Blutendes Herz
by jugglequeen
Summary: Set some time before the revival. Mulder is on a mission to get Scully back but has to cope with something he hasn't expected.
1. Plot A

**Blutendes Herz**  
(Bleeding Heart)

Your eyes are glued to a couple walking a few yards ahead of you. It wasn't your intention to follow them but you were pulled into their sphere against your will. The man's arm rests on the woman's shoulder and she has put hers around his waist. They are walking slowly, strolling at a leisurely pace through the streets, chatting with each other. The woman throws her head back every now and then, obviously laughing at something the man has told her. They are a nice couple, appearing to be in love. To an innocent bystander, they definitely look like a married couple, but you are no innocent bystander, and you know they aren't married because the woman with the red hair dancing on her shoulders with every laugh that erupts from her throat is your wife.

She isn't cheating on you, no. You never really were married, although to you it has only always felt as if you were. Even before you became involved, you saw your perfect other in her and couldn't think of ever being without her again in your life. And when you finally mustered the guts to show her how much you loved her, you knew you were the luckiest son of a bitch when she smiled at you and told you she loved you too. But you screwed it up.

You aren't living together anymore. One could say you're separated, although you still don't accept the feeling of being single. You haven't been able to feel anything at all for quite a while, that's what made her leave. Your indifference and unfeelingness were too much for her to take at a certain point. She tried so long to convince you to let yourself be treated for your illness but your avolition made you embrace the darkness evermore fiercely until she didn't know what else to do. Eventually, she'd given up on you, on your relationship. On a cold, gray Sunday morning she packed her bags and left.

That was almost a year ago.

One wouldn't say that you are alright now, but you're definitely better. You started seeing a therapist who prescribed medication to take off one first thick layer of what had been suffocating your soul. You started working out again. Your lungs were burning during your first 5-mile run but the pain told you you were alive, so you continued. You started eating healthier, cutting order-in pizza out of your diet, throwing away the booze. You started going to bed before midnight, actually sleeping in your bed and not on the couch in the living room. The bed you made love to her in when things were still alright between you. The very same bed you left her alone in when everything was going wrong. Now, you're doing all the things she wanted you to do, begged you to do for your own sake. You can't explain why you didn't listen to her while she was still around, why she had to leave for you to awake from your state of inertia. She was right with everything she proposed because you feel so much better now.

You actually feel so good that you've begun contemplating about rekindling your relationship with her. And the more you thought about it, the more you believed you would get her back if only you tried. When she left, she said, 'I need a break,' not 'I don't want to ever see you again.' If she saw how hard you work for your recovery, how you've been following every single one of her doctor's orders, she'd realize that despite everything, the both of you are meant for 'happily ever after', you thought.

And then this.

Your Scully arm in arm with another man.

You're such an idiot, Mulder! What have you been thinking?

That no other man on this planet would feel attracted to her? That her loveliness would go unnoticed by the remaining part of the male population? That she would never lay her eyes on someone else because she didn't want to be with anyone but you? That she would renounce love forevermore?

"This is the restaurant you wanted to take me to?" you hear her familiar voice, and its melodic sound resounds in your ears.

You miss that voice. You miss it mumbling 'good morning' into your ear on a Sunday morning or shouting 'put milk on the grocery list' at you before she leaves the house for her shift at the hospital, but most of all you miss it crying out your name when you make love to her.

If you're being honest, you have to admit that you didn't make love to her at the end anymore. You fucked her, giving her what you thought she wanted, without feeling even a fraction of the overwhelming lust you used to feel for her. You noticed her stifled sobs when you got up and left the bed to spend the rest of the night on the couch, but you ignored them. In retrospect you ask yourself how you were possibly able to treat the woman who was everything to you so badly, how you could have been so mean to her, so cruel.

"That's the one," the man answers her cheerfully.

"That's insane, Mark," she replies, "that posh place is way too expensive."

You know the man's name now: Mark.

"It's our three-month anniversary, my love. Let me spoil you."

'My love'.

You swallow.

You never called her that. She was Scully to you, Dana in very rare cases. Others were irked by you calling each other by your last names, but for the two of you, it had always been a term of endearment. Nobody has ever called you Mulder like Scully did. Her pronunciation of your name, the way the two syllables rolled off her tongue made your acoustic nerves tingle in a way no 'honeybun', 'darling' or 'sweetheart' would have ever done.

"You're crazy, Mark," you hear her say.

"Yes, crazy for you, my beautiful Dana."

You can't keep your eyes off him sighing those romantic words into her ear. The man, Mark, cranes his neck to place a kiss on her cheek but she pulls back, her demeanor suddenly less at ease. You squint your eyes and strain your ears from your hiding place behind a car.

"Sorry," Mark pulls his hand away and throws it up in the air. "No syrupy flatteries, I know. What has gotten into me to call my girlfriend 'beautiful'?"

"I'm sorry," she says, "I didn't mean to offend you. I'm looking forward to dinner. I haven't been to such a fancy place for a long time."

Your stomach churns when he calls her his girlfriend and even more when you witness how she cups the man's cheeks with both hands and places a gentle kiss on his mouth. You observe how it develops into a passionate kiss. French, for sure. You have to put your hand over your mouth to keep yourself from groaning loudly. You haven't forgotten how soft her lips are, how good her kisses taste, and you envy the man who is enjoying these sensations right now in front of your eyes.

You resist the impact to jump up from behind the car and shout at him to get the hell his hands off of her. You realize you're in no position to claim her as yours. Not anymore. You had your chance, but you messed it up. Your relationship was special, her trust in you infinite, as yours in her. You had a child together. A beautiful son. You will always be connected through him, as his birth parents, although he's someone else's son now.

The man pulls back after the kiss and catches some air. "Wow," he exclaims, "if this is what I get for taking you out to dinner, I'll do it on a daily basis from now on. I'll take you out to breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And probably also to a coffee break in the afternoon."

You hear her give a laugh. A full, cheerful laugh. One she usually doesn't give that often. At least not when she was with you.

"Well, breakfast in bed might do the same trick," she says, and the innuendo in her voice makes you nauseous.

They are sleeping together. Of course. They are healthy adults, dating for three months, as you have learned a few moments ago. Only because you didn't get your act together for seven years doesn't mean every other man contents himself with yearning for her and with just fantasizing about making love to her. This guy seems to have been able to turn his fantasies into realities much faster than you did.

You catch yourself contemplating about their level of intimacy. Does he already know about how sensitive the hollows of her knees are? That she likes to be caressed behind her ear but not where her tattoo is? That she prefers to be the big spoon despite being the smaller person by far? 'Are you able to make her come several times a night like I did, Mark?' you want to ask him.

You will never now, he isn't answering your question. Instead, he tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and strokes her cheek. "I'm a lucky man. I'm so glad you came to my agency when you needed that apartment. Who knows if we would have met otherwise."

You feel bile rise up your throat. You literally pushed her into this man's arms, you realize. He's the fucking real estate agent she turned to when she was looking for a place of her own after she had left a house to you she actually owned. She alone had signed the papers back then because you feared it would expose you too much if you did too. If it wasn't so damn sad, you would laugh at the irony of it all.

"It was kismet, my love. As if some extraterrestrial force led you to me."

You hear her suck in her breath at the word 'extraterrestrial', and so do you.

"What? You don't believe in the existence of the extraterrestrial?"

You almost laugh at his question. If he only knew what kind of a hornet's nest he's stirring up with it.

"Well, I was taught to believe once," she answers and the little smile you see on her face lets your heart beat faster.

"Taught? By who?"

There are hornets all over the place now. The anticipation of her answer is almost killing you.

"Uh, Mark, I never told you this. My prior relationship...it was...very special. We were together for more than 20 years, and the reason I was looking for an apartment when we met was that I had left him because I couldn't deal with his severe depression anymore. He's the one who taught me to believe. In many things. He taught me a lot."

"You speak much more highly of your ex than I speak of mine. Caroline and I separated after years of marital problems. I left her when I found out she had been cheating on me for months."

"We weren't married and I didn't really leave him, I...uhm, I only moved out of the house. I...I wouldn't call him an ex."

"Oh?"

The man straightens his back. You almost pity him. How is he to understand? Although you also marvel yourself at the meaning of her words, what they mean for you in particular.

"It's not what you think. Mark. I haven't seen or talked to him in almost a year. Since the day I left, actually. I call him once in a while, to make sure he takes care of himself, but he never answers the phone."

"You worry about him."

"He's sick. Depression is a serious illness, and he has a tendency to embrace the darkness. I'm a medical doctor, have been his for years and years. I couldn't just leave him on his own. I would never forgive myself if my leaving were the reason for him to sink even deeper into his depression."

"You still have feelings for him?"

The question rings in your ears and you're dying for her answer.

"Why, yes, of course, I still have feelings for him. You don't erase a person from your life after 20 years just like that. We have always been best friends, through various stages of our relationship, and we will continue being friends. At least, I consider myself to be his friend, I don't know what he sees in me since I was the one who went away."

'You're my constant, Scully,' you want to shout, 'my touchstone.'

"Do you want to go back to be with him? Some day? Am I just a stopgap until the two of you've straightened things out?"

"No, Mark, not at all! I'm not that kind of person, taking advantage of someone else, and definitely not of someone's feelings for me."

"Yes, I have feelings for you, Dana. As a matter-of-fact, I'm falling in love with you. I noticed that you aren't into this as much as I am - I'm not some insensitive bull terrier - and it left me wondering. Now I know where your caution comes from."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You obviously had a wonderful, long-lasting relationship with this man, it's only natural. It says a lot about how compassionate and caring you are. Do you think we can have something like it? One day?"

"I don't know. You're a wonderful man, and I am attracted to you, but we've been dating for three months only. It's hard for me to predict how far this will go. The last time I loved, it was so intense and all-consuming, it almost seems that everything coming after that can't but fall short. "

"Thank you for your honesty. I guess there are no guarantees when it comes to love. It's not exactly easy for me to listen to you raving of your relationship with another man, I have to tell you, but I have one more question for you: Are you happy, Dana? With me?"

You hold your breath, although you know the answer. The way she converses with this guy, the way she looks at him, the kiss she gave him, her laugh...all of this tells you how she feels about him. You had enough time to study her and you've become an expert in the mystery that is Dana Scully. Too bad that your skills abandoned you in the end because if they hadn't, you might have been able to ward off the tailspin your relationship eventually ended up in. You would be sitting on the couch with her head on your lap right now, watching a movie, instead of holing up behind a car observing her as if you were a sick stalker. Maybe you are. This private, intimate conversation isn't actually yours to listen to, you know, but you have to find out what the odds are for you. You simply have to. So you hold your breath in order not to miss a single word she's saying.

"Yes. I am. I'm very happy. I feel so alive when I'm with you, Mark. Like I haven't in a long time."

"So then let's celebrate our three-month anniversary with wonderful food and champagne. If I ever lose you to him again, I don't want to blame myself for not having enjoyed it as long as it lasted."

You look at them, especially at her, how the corners of her mouth rise slowly into a warm smile, one you remember being at the receiving end of in different situations: when you woke up from unconsiousness in a hospital bed, for example, or when you told her one of your wild theories. When you served her hot chamomile tea when she had the flu.

They spare you another kiss but link arms and finally enter the restaurant. You thank the weather gods for this mild late summer night because if it had been cold or rainy they would have never had this conversation outside and you wouldn't have caught any of it. Through the huge windows, you observe how the maître d' welcomes them and shows them their table.

You stay to study them a bit more. You almost feel like being on a stakeout, observing two target persons. He reaches out for her hands and she willingly puts them in his. You're amazed by the level of public display of affection you witness. She wasn't like this with you, probably because for so many years you both felt the need to hide your relationship just for the sake of denying your opponents a weak point to use against you. The waiter serves expensive champagne in crystal flutes. They clink and take a sip. She puts the glass back on the table, and as soon as her fingers let go of the stem, he takes her hand to kiss its back. She tilts her head and shows him this warm smile again. You notice how comfortable she is, how much at ease. She enjoys this date, enjoys the presence and touch of this man. You're paralyzed by what you see. Like an onlooker at a terrible car accident, you're shocked and your stomach turns but at the same time, you're unable to tear your eyes away.

She's happy, she said. Happy with him. Your chest constricts as you realize what this means for you.

You have to stay away from her, it's as simple as that. Your chuckle is bitter. Simple?

No, definitely not simple. It's going to be damn hard, but you want her to be happy, even if it means she's happy with another man. Your initial plan was to tell her today that you want her back, that you would fight for her, but now is not the right time. She's in another relationship, a carefree relationship with what seems to be a decent, kind man. She deserves this, deserves him.

Your heart is bleeding, but it's not bleeding to death because there is a 'but', a silver lining far away at the horizon.

She also said that she still has feelings for you, that she's still your friend. She hasn't committed herself fully to this relationship, she told him her love for you was too intense to cut you out of her life completely. And even he considers it possible she return to you. You have to give him credit for the way he handled what she'd told him. You remember being more territorial and possessive of her at a time you hadn't even been a couple.

So you will continue seeing your therapist to fight this fucking depression furthermore. You will go on taking care of yourself. You will fix the drain pipe, paint the wooden window frames and change the broken faucet in the kitchen to keep the house, her house, in good repair. You will keep a stock of her favorite tea in the pantry and a spare toothbrush in the little cabinet under the bathroom sink, just in case she pays you a visit and decides to stay for the night.

Good plan, bro, but what if it doesn't work out? What if she's not coming back to you? Then what?

You have to take this dreadful scenario into consideration, as painful as it sounds. There are no guarantees when it comes to love, Mark said, and you know he was right. If he's able to live with that kind of uncertainty about her, so should you. Only that you are so much more dependent on her that he probably is. He's in love with her and will most certainly be devastated should she ever walk out on him, but you...you have no idea how to continue if she's lost to you for good.

Well, one thing's certain. If you do lose her ever, then your heart will bleed to death. For sure.


	2. Plot B

**Blutendes Herz II  
** (Bleeding Heart)

 _Author's Note: Same scenario like in chapter 1, different plot._

* * *

You wipe your palms on your thighs and stare at the numbers at the apartment door: three - seven - nine. It's your first time here and you're suddenly not so sure anymore that this is such a good idea. You thought it was a splendid idea about an hour ago when you left your house, climbed into your car and drove over here. You still thought it was a very good idea fifteen minutes ago when you started looking for a parking space, cursing the constant lack of it in the downtown area. You kept thinking it was a solid idea ten seconds ago when you knocked.

And now?

Now you're convinced that this is one of the worst ideas you've ever had, but now it's too late. Even if you started running down the hallway this very second, she'd notice it was you. You hear her footsteps approaching the door on the other side and in a blink of an eye the door will open and she will be able to see who knocked. All you can do is take a deep breath and try to stay calm.

She won't tear your head off, will she?

The door swings open and the woman you haven't seen in almost a year is standing in front of you, looking flummoxed as if she was seeing a ghost. Well, maybe you are a ghost.

"Mulder?"

"Uhm, yes. Hello, Scully," you mumble self-consciously, staring at your feet.

"What are you doing here?"

The consternation in her voice hurts you a bit.

"I...uh, I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd bring you this."

You hand her the little paper bag which has been clutched in your hands. It's crumpled and damp from your sweaty palms. You know now that it's so silly but a few hours ago it seemed to be the perfect pretext for you to drop by here.

She takes the bag from you, peeks inside, and frowns. "My shower gel and shampoo?"

"You forgot them when you...when you...uh," you stammer helplessly.

What have you been thinking? That she wouldn't survive without her shower gel and shampoo? That she hadn't known what to do without them all those months? That she wouldn't be perfectly able to walk into the next Walmart and get a new set? Actually, you notice she did fine without them because a scent of coconut and peach reaches your nose. Oh, how you love that smell! It's unmistakably a mixture of Dove Coconut & Cream and Herbal Essences Peach Blossom. When you missed her so badly that you were hardly able to cope with her absence, you would take a sniff at those started bottles in the shower, the ones you never removed just in case she returned.

"And you thought I was so much in need of them just now?"

"They're your favorites. At least, they used to be."

"They still are," she sighs and with a slight smile she eventually asks you, "do you want to come in?"

"Thank you," you say before you take tentative steps inside her apartment, the place she fled to after she'd left you. You look around. It reminds you of her place in Georgetown all those years back. Same decorating style, same ambiance. You feel beamed two decades back to the beginning of your partnership when invading her private space felt awkward.

"Nice place," you hear yourself say. 'I hate it' you want to add but you swallow the words.

"Thank you."

She doesn't know how to handle the situation just like you, you realize.

"Am I coming amiss?"

Of course, you are. You came here unannounced, what did you expect? That she would fall into your arms whispering a relieved 'finally' into your ear as if she's only been waiting for you to show up?

"No, I...uh, I was just getting ready for...uhm... Well, don't bother," she mumbles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Oh boy, is she tensed-up and nervous. This is definitely inconvenient for her. She was getting ready for something. For what? A shift at the hospital? A ride to the grocery store? A meeting with her mom?

"Something important? Do you want me to leave?" you feel obliged to ask and pray she'll say no.

"No...uhm, you can stay. There's still some time before I have to..." She inhales deeply to steady her voice before she looks at you, asking with her exhale, "tea?"

You nod. She doesn't want to tell you where she's supposed to go, that much is clear. But why?

You don't know what to say so you look around while she fills the kettle and puts it on the stove. The way the apartment is decorated is so Scully, from the antique wooden furniture, the comfortable couch with the thick pillows, the plushy rugs, the floral patterns of the drapes and the candles everywhere. What stings is that you don't recognize anything from your house, not a single item. No crystal vase, no picture frame, not even one of those dust catchers she found at one of the many flea markets she dragged you to. There's nothing here that would remind her of her life at the house you finally settled down in after years of running from the devil. You have to acknowledge that there's nothing here to remind her of her life with you.

And then you notice it. There's a huge bouquet of red roses residing in the middle of the coffee table in front of the couch, and suddenly everything makes sense.

The coconut'n'peach smell on her comes from the shower she had just taken. Her hair is nicely blown-dry and her makeup is immaculate. She wears the pearl earrings her parents gave her for her graduation from med school. She's still barefoot, in sweat pants and t-shirt, but there's a black cocktail dress draped over the sofa's backrest waiting to be slipped on and a polished pair of stiletto heels is standing next to it. Even if you weren't a highly skilled profiler, solving this riddle wouldn't be too difficult. She was getting ready for a date.

"You're seeing someone," you state.

She sucks in a sharp breath. A look in her face is enough for you to understand you're right.

"A doctor?"

"Mulder," she moans instead of an answer.

"Tell me, Scully, I can handle it," you insist but you're not really convinced of what you just said.

"Sit down, Mulder. Here's your tea," she tells you handing you a steaming mug.

You let yourself fall onto the couch. It's nice and comfortable but you feel as if you're sitting on a bed of nails. You stare at the flowers. Three dozen, you count. Three dozen of long-stemmed red roses. How cliché!

You never bought her roses. You always thought she didn't attach much value to such token gestures of romance. You drove through half of the city to get bee pollen for her, you billed more than one motel room to your private credit card to accommodate her in a nicer surrounding than the usual fleabags the FBI was paying for, you donated sperm for her to become pregnant at a time she was still just your co-worker, but you never brought home flowers, let alone red roses.

You can't tear your eyes away from the flowers with their deep red petals exuding a scent almost overshadowing Scully's. They look perfect, like from a Valentine's Day ad in a flower shop window. They practically scream at you how much the person who gave them to her adores her.

"So, tell me about this new guy in your life."

You feel like a masochist asking for corporal punishment. You know what you're about to hear is going to hurt like hell. She also seems to be aware of what her words are going to do to you. She's hesitant, reluctant even to tell you, but you won't be convinced to let go. You're going to pry until you know the complete truth, no matter how painful it will be. You know it, and she knows it.

She inhales deeply, chews her bottom lip and eventually sighs in surrender. "His name his Mark. He's a real estate agent. We had dinner a few times."

"Dinner...I see."

Her eyes follow yours which are going back to the roses again, and she obviously decides it's useless to go on beating around the bush. The bouquet speaks for itself.

"Okay, Mulder, if you really need to know, here you go: yes, Mark and I are dating."

Mark and I. Three three innocent words, actually, but the combination of them coming out of her mouth does something to you. You swallow. You knew there was a man in her life from the moment you noticed those roses, but having her say it feels like she's stabbing a knife into your heart and twisting it. You don't understand why you're so baffled since you've been expecting it.

Your Scully is dating someone. God, she hasn't dated in ages. The transition of your relationship from one of platonic fellow agents to passionate lovers had come along without a single date and throughout the seven years prior, she had had exactly three dates. Yes, you were counting them, you sorry son of a bitch.

"For how long?" you ask although you know it's none of your business. You have no right to interrogate her about a life you're no longer a part of. You're surprised she even answers.

"Just three months."

That's apparently what the three dozen are for.

"How did you meet him?"

When you imagined what she was doing in this new life of hers, her life apart from you, you somehow expected her to be working day and night. She'd always buried herself with work to distract herself when something in her private life went wrong. You pictured her eating, sleeping and working, having dinner with her mother once in a while at most or going to Sunday Mass. Socializing, with men, outside the hospital was outside your imagination. Where the hell did she meet a real estate agent? Maybe this Mark was a patient who developed a crush on the pretty lady doctor who relieved him from the pain of his hernia.

"I was looking for an apartment and he was the real estate agent at the other side of the desk. He showed me a few properties, including this one here, and after I signed the lease he invited me to dinner. That's it."

"A first date?"

"It was just dinner, Mulder. Do you really believe I jumped into another man's arms two weeks after I moved out?"

"But now you're dating. Officially."

"If you want to call it that, yes."

There's an awkward silence spreading in the room. Funny, back then, the silence between the two of you was never awkward. Even if it was an angry silence, it was just angry, not awkward.

Your contemplations are interrupted by a knock at the door. Three short knocks followed by a longer pause and then another two knocks. Like a Morse code. You have an idea who it might be, and so does she. You see her suck in her breath. She tries to suppress a moan but it slips out of her throat anyway.

She thinks you can't handle meeting him, fears you're going to make a scene. She didn't want the two of you to meet for sure, but you almost burst out of curiosity. What kind of man has been able to conquer Dana Scully's heart? Is he a bit like you or a completely different person? You don't know what would bother you more.

Your eyes follow her on her way to the door. She seems to move in slow motion clearly dreading the encounter of the former and the current man in her life. When she's in front of the door, her shoulders rise and fall with one last deep breath, then she turns the knob and opens the door.

"Hi there," she's greeted cheerfully.

He can't see you because Scully is standing in the way, and despite her tiny body your slouched figure on the sofa is completely hidden by her.

"What's taken you so long?" you hear the man ask. His voice is deep and strong, tinted by a slight accent you can't quite figure out. "Am I too early? Why aren't you dressed, baby? I thought I was to pick you up at 6:30."

Baby? She lets him call her baby?

You called her that once, a few days after your first passionate night together, and she wholeheartedly laughed you in the face. 'Seriously, Mulder?' she said to you, 'you really think you're in a position now to use this idiotic word about me just because you made me come last night?' You never called her that again. It remained to be Mulder and Scully between you no matter what your relationship consisted of - partnership, friendship, romance, something resembling a marriage and consequently a divorce. She had dozens of different ways to pronounce your name and only from the sound of it you could tell whether she was amused, scared, annoyed, mad, horny, disappointed, worried, content, or experiencing one of a million more sentiments.

She leaves his questions unanswered, ushers him in instead. He walks into the living room without any hesitancy or awkwardness, much more self-confident than you earlier. He feels comfortable here, steers directly to the spot where you're sitting at the coffee table, the table his red roses are decking so prominently. When he sees you, he stops in his tracks.

"Oh," he utters in surprise, "I didn't know you had a visitor, Dana."

"Yeah, well, that's why I'm running late," she says.

He makes a step forward and stretches his hand out for you to shake. "Mark Finlay," he introduces himself without any discomfort or rejection in his voice.

Mark. What a nicely normal name, you think. Not peculiar like yours, one people furrow their brows at.

"My name's Mulder, Fox Mulder."

"Nice to meet you, Fox. Are you a friend of Dana's?" No brow-furrowing whatsoever from him.

"I go by Mulder, actually, and yes, Scully and I used to be friends, although I can't really say if we still are."

"Mulder..." she sighs.

"Mulder and Scully," Mark repeats with some surprise, letting your names roll off his tongue. "You call each other by your last names? That's weird."

"We used to be partners when we were with the FBI. It's not so weird there," you hear her telling him only half the truth.

"I see. How long haven't you seen each other?"

"Eleven months, two weeks, and five days," you hear yourself say, unable to tell what made you. Scully moans and now Mark does furrow his brows.

As soon as the words have tumbled out of your mouth you know it was a mistake. You made yourself vulnerable to him, and what's even worse, you put Scully into a compromising position. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together to figure out that Mulder and Scully were more than just co-workers, and Mark is able to do the math.

"Uh, what was that, man?" he asks, his voice not so gentle anymore. You can't blame him.

"Mark," Scully starts, looking at her...at her...her what? Boyfriend? Lover? Partner? "Mulder and I worked together but we were also a couple for fifteen years. We separated-"

"You moved out," you cut in and correct her, worsening the situation even more.

"-I moved out about a year ago. That's why I came to your agency. I needed a place to stay."

"Oh, so the long-term relationship you told me about, the one you were having troubles leaving behind you, that's him," he concludes, tilting his head in your direction.

Scully nods silently.

"And today is the first time you see each other after eleven months-"

"-two weeks, five days, and," you look at your watch, "eight hours."

"Yes," she confirms again, probably not your precise time specification though. Actually, she shoots you a warning look. You'd even be able to tell the seconds - forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven - but you already overdid it, so you keep the seconds to yourself while they pass stoically. Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five.

"I see."

You're an Oxford graduate with a degree in psychology, you have no problems following this man's train of thought. He takes a closer look at you to assess you and your intentions, trying to evaluate whether you are a threat to him or not. Obviously, Scully hasn't told him anything about your relationship other than that it was difficult for her to get over the failure of it. He's as curious of you as you are of him. He asks himself what kind of man she had fallen for before and he questions your presence here.

"Ah, well, I guess you have a lot to talk about then. Do you want me to leave you alone?" As neither of you tells him to stay, he clumsily turns to Scully. "I'll call you tomorrow, honey," he says, "maybe we can meet for lunch?"

Your insides tie a knot when you hear him use another affectionate nickname for her. The credit he's giving you impresses you, though, or maybe he knows Scully already well enough to trust her. If manners weren't so damn useless right now, you would offer to leave. You are the intruder here, not him. He had a date with her, you came unannounced, but you want to talk to her so badly and you fear you will never get another chance, so you let him go through with it. You gladly notice that she nods at him.

"It was nice meeting you, Fox...uh, M-mulder," he says, looking at you with an intense stare that makes absolutely clear he's leaving only for the moment and not for you to take her back.

"Yeah," is all you reply. He's a nice guy, no question about it, but you wished you would've never had to make his acquaintance.

Scully walks him to the door. You're polite enough to give them some privacy and turn your back to them, although the suspense is killing you. You'd like to watch them interact, it'd give your psychologist's mind more information about the quality of their relationship and level of intimacy, but you also have manners. They don't keep you from straining your ears though to eavesdrop on their whispered words.

"I'm so sorry, Mark. He came here totally unexpected. I was just getting ready when he knocked at the door."

"It's alright, love. That is, if you want me to throw him out, I'll gladly do so."

"No, we do actually have to talk. Life hasn't exactly been good to him, to neither of us. He's been to dark, depressing places and I'm glad he's made the first step out of his shell. It's just that the timing's not perfect."

"You sound very compassionate, Dana. Do I have to be worried?"

"No, there's no need for you to worry about anything."

"But you still care a lot for him, don't you? Although you left him."

"If you knew what Mulder and I have been through, you'd understand. You have to trust me, Mark. I need to sort a few things out with him. I want...I need us to be friends."

"Wow, I can't imagine wanting to be friends with my ex. I'm a bit anxious about leaving you alone with him, to be honest."

"You wouldn't be if you knew all the circumstances."

"Enlighten me!"

"Not now, Mark. I will. One day. I promise, but it's very complicated and parts of our history together are very sad. I can't do this in passing, and certainly not whispering to you while Mulder's sitting in my living-room."

"Alright, I content myself until you're ready to confide in me, if...you promise to wear that breath-taking black dress I spied on your couch when you do."

You can hear the sly grin in his voice and the smacking sound of a kiss shortly thereafter.

"Call me when it gets out of hand or ugly. I can be here quickly if he dares to lay a hand on you."

You catch a soft chuckle from Scully. "That won't happen, Mark. Ever. Mulder might seem a bit deranged to you but he's a good person. He'd rather cut his hand off than hurt me."

The way she defends you makes you warm all over.

You can't blame him, though. He's about to leave the woman he loves alone with a man who makes the impression of, to put it mildly, not being totally clear in his head. Your meticulous timekeeping of the moment Scully moved out didn't exactly help him to trust in your intentions. You can't decide whether his leaving astonishes you in a good or in a bad way, whether he's an idiot quitting the field for another man or someone who deserves admiration for the trust he has in her. If you were in his shoes, you'd most certainly take yourself by the scruff of your neck and throw yourself out. Maybe he's just not such a pathetic alpha male like you are.

There's another smacking sound and you hear him hum delightfully.

"Mark," she whispers somewhat out of breath. God, did he kiss her that hard? The cinema in your head makes you dig your fingertips into your palms with so much force your nails leave deep dents in them.

"Love you, baby."

Your self-control is put to a severe test. 'This baby belongs to me,' you want to yell at him. At least you're spared to ear-witness her say the same to him as she answers him with only as much as an non-committal 'uh huh' before she closes the door, probably out of consideration for you. You hear her take a deep inhale before she steps back into your field of vision.

"I'm terribly sorry, Scully. I didn't mean to ruin your evening."

Honestly, you're glad the guy is gone.

"You're not ruining my evening, Mulder."

"What were you guys up to?"

"A vernissage. Mark has a friend who is an artist with an exhibition at Monroe Gallery. Well, I guess we can do it anytime, save the free champagne."

She smirks at you and you actually do feel bad that you confounded her plans. You know that she likes the fine arts, that she enjoys going to classical concerts, galleries, and book readings. You've never taken her, it's not your cup of tea. It's his, apparently.

"I didn't come here to mess up your evening plans, Scully. I should've been one leaving, not your..." No, you can't bring yourself to pronounce the word.

"Well, Mulder, what did you come here for?"

"I..."

"Yes?"

You might as well say it. "I needed to see you, Scully. It's been a year, for Christ's sake. I missed you, that's all."

She closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose and swallows hard before she speaks. "I missed you too, Mulder."

"Seriously?"

She looks at you, her eyes pleading with you. "Tell me you know why I left, that it wasn't because I didn't care for you anymore."

"I kinda figured that out together with my therapist. Took me a while though."

"You're seeing a therapist?"

"Yes. Twice a week."

"That's good, Mulder. That's very good. Are you getting better?"

The honest concern in her voice makes your stomach flip.

"I am. You were right with everything you said, Scully. The shrink, the medication, the getting more sleep and eating healthier food. I even started running again. I haven't turned the corner yet, but I'm getting there."

She spares you a triumphant 'I told you so'. Actually, there's nothing resembling triumph or smugness in her eyes, no 'I knew it' or 'you should've listened to me' on her face, instead tears are pooling in her eyes mirroring a heavy sadness you can't make anything of.

"What? Aren't you happy for me?"

"I'm very happy for you, Mulder. I was so worried. You didn't answer my calls, you never handed in the prescriptions I sent you. I feared you'd sink deeper and deeper into this depression up to the point you'd..." she trails off but you know where she was going with this.

You won't tell her that you've actually been at this point she's unable to speak out. You remember that night you didn't see any fair reason to go on. You had no job, no family, your Scully was gone. You didn't have a life, all you had was this house she'd left to you and a miserable existence that caused you far more pain than anything else. The gun in your hand felt like the ultimate solution to your suffering, the cold, hard steel against your hot skin soothing in a way. You thought that if you ate a bullet, it would relieve you, would lift all the burden off your shoulders and give you final peace. Then a brief moment of sanity came over you and in front of your mind's eye you saw how Scully would take the news when some blunt police detective called her as your next of kin. You asked yourself how much more pain you wanted to cause her and suddenly the road you had to take was crystal clear. You secured the hammer, put the gun on the coffee table in front of you and stared at it for hours. This lonesome night marked the beginning of your healing process.

"So, then why are you crying?" you ask while brushing a tear off her cheek with your thumb, thrilled that she lets you.

"I'm crying because I had to leave you for you to admit to yourself that you needed treatment. My being there couldn't do it, only my absence. Why, Mulder? It used to be just the other way around all those years. We used to give each other strength, not paralyze each other."

"I'm still trying to find the answer to this phenomenon, Scully. The shrink is not letting me off the hook with this, I can tell you. What I have already figured out though is that you are the sole reason I'm still here. Your absence left a hole so vast in me that I couldn't ignore the pain any longer. Believe me, I had tried many ways to numb it, none had worked. One day I decided to give it a shot and called the number you'd written down for me. It was still stuck to the fridge."

"Imagine where we could be if you had called Doctor Summers the day I gave you her number. We could still be together."

How often have you asked this what-if question yourself? Hundreds of times? Thousands? You've learned from said Doctor Summers that what-if questions are not only useless but counterproductive. They keep you from accepting what is and from changing what's in your power to change. The past can't be influenced anymore, only the future, and that's what you're determined to do. You want to build your future life, and you want her to be in it.

"We could work on getting back together. That is...if you want us back together."

She looks at you with a mixture of astonishment and incomprehension.

"What?" you ask. "Would it be so out of the realms of possibility?"

"I'm in a relationship with a very gentle man who has been very patient with me. I can't drop him like a hot potato."

No, of course, she can't. She's far too decent and kind to treat another person like this. She hadn't jumped into this new thing light-heartedly, she really likes this very gentle, patient man. She's gotten involved with him for his sake, not to get over you.

Nausea makes itself felt, you have problems swallowing because of the lump forming in your throat. Has it taken you too long? Have you lost her to another man because you didn't get your act together fast enough? Does she not only like him but has she fallen in love with him? Scully doesn't fall in love easily - head over heels and love at first sight are not her concepts really - but when Scully loves, she loves unrestrictedly and unconditionally. You were at the receiving end of her love and she defended it against everyone who dared to question it; her peers, her superiors, her brother. You won't stand a chance against Mark if she loves him, so you have to ask.

"You _can't_ drop him or you don't _want_ to?"

"Both. Mulder! You can't just come here, tell me you want us back together, and expect me to leave everything and everyone behind and follow you home."

"So...it's over. Between us, I mean."

You wince.

"That's not what I said."

You gasp.

"Then what did you say, Scully?"

"I like Mark, and I enjoy being with him."

She likes him - okay. She enjoys being with him - this you need to be clarified.

"Are you sleeping with him?"

You look into two crystal blue eyes so boring through you they make you shiver. Of course, you know you overstepped the mark. It's absolutely none of your business, but you need to know, so you insist regardless.

"Are you?"

You tilt your head and peek at the roses on the table, pursing your lips and arching your eyebrows. She follows your line of sight, still clearly pissed off by your question. She keeps her eyes on the flowers for a long moment, then sighs audibly.

"Okay, Mulder, if you feel like you want to know...not that I owe you any explanation...but yes, Mark and I have sex."

Now that you know you wished you hadn't asked. You give a short, bitter chuckle.

"What? Are you expecting me to live in isolation just like you?"

"Maybe."

"I wasn't looking for this, Mulder, believe me. But you know what? It's nice to be paid attention to. You didn't even look at me anymore. You took for granted that I was there but you didn't notice me anymore, let alone reciprocate in any way."

"And he looks," you state, unable to keep that disparaging ring out of your voice.

"Yes, he does. He looks at me, notices me, realizes I'm there. He's made me feel like a desirable woman again." She holds your gaze for a moment and you see more pain in her eyes than you're able to deal with. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"I didn't make you feel like a desirable woman?" The question leaves a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

"Oh, you did, Mulder," she breathes, and you see the sweet memory flicker in her eyes for a brief moment. "God, you made me feel so alive at a time I didn't want to live. After William was gone, I feared I'd never be able to feel anything again, that I had become completely numb inside. It was the intensity of your love and passion that gave me the strength to love you back and to go on living, but your passion eroded over time. Not your love, I was always sure of your love for me, but I didn't feel your passion anymore. In the end, your world had shrunk to this little room full of dusty files, blurred photographs, and yellowed newspaper clippings. I could step into this room but I couldn't enter your world. You didn't let me in, neither did you come into my world anymore. You'd drifted away from me so much, I didn't know how to reach out to you. We'd lost our connection."

Her voice has become very quiet, the last words were a mere whisper. It speaks for the suffering all of this caused her. You don't have anything to say to this. You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood.

"I missed our physicality, Mulder, and you didn't even realize it. In the end, I craved it so much, it ached. It's a good feeling to be again touched and kissed. I enjoy being looked at, being told I'm beautiful and wanted."

Every word feels like a slap in your face. You deserve it, there's no doubt about it. You didn't give her what she needed, so living with you had become unbearable for her. You drove her away from you and finally out of the house. It's all your fault.

This insight doesn't come as a surprise to you. You've already figured all of this out together with Doctor Summers. She'd put her finger right in the wound and poked at the raw flesh until you were honest with yourself. It was a difficult step you refused to take for quite a while, but after having walked down that road you started getting better. It had been the first step forward of many and there are still hundreds more for you to make. If you want to heal completely, you have to run a marathon.

"I'm in the process of becoming the person I used to be, Scully. I can make up for the way I made you feel, I promise I will. You'll be treasured and desired like never before. I'll do whatever you want me to do...meditate, eat bee pollen, burn every single X-File in the filing cabinet. You name it, I'll do it. Just give me a chance to prove how much I've returned to my former self in the past year, to the person you once loved. Please!"

God, you're pathetic, begging for her affection like this. But what else can you do? You're desperate and scared to death that you've irretrievably lost her. Not to cancer, the aliens or any dark forces but to another man who happened to be there for her at a time you could only deal with your own issues and with nobody else's, not even hers.

Oh, how you hate this fucking depression!

She sees what's going on in your head. She's always been able to read you like a book, your separation hasn't changed that. Your plea has touched her. Tears are brimming in her eyes.

"Don't do this for me, Mulder. I can't be the sole reason for you to be willing to heal. It's too much of a burden. You have to do it for your own sake, because _you_ want to get better. And by the way..." She cups your face with a hand and caresses your cheek gently with her thumb, "I've never stopped loving you, even when this damned depression had turned you into someone I didn't recognize anymore."

You're paralyzed. You forget to breathe. "You still love me?" you finally croak.

"Of course, Mulder," she tells you with a smile, "that will never change. But we can't be together unless you have this illness completely under control. I couldn't help you back then and I can't do it right now. I see your progress, but you're far away from being through, and you know it yourself. I'm more than willing to support you as your friend and physician, but I can't be more than that. Not now."

"But...one day?"

"If you expect me to give you a guarantee, I can't. There are no guarantees when it comes to personal relationships. I once thought ours was indestructible, but it wasn't. I can't foresee our future, Mulder, all I know is that you will always be a part of my life. As my best friend, my partner in crime, my son's father. You're the one and only person who knows every scarred side of my soul. Maybe...maybe one day you can be my perfect other again. It's not impossible, but it depends on so many factors that I don't dare to predict let alone promise anything. I don't know how far Mark and I will go. What I do know is that I'm humbly happy as it is right now and that I want to give this a try. Can you live with that?"

Can you?

"No promises, Mulder, only chances."

You have to let this sink in for a moment before you're able to answer, but then you know exactly where it leaves you.

"When has the fact that I didn't know where the road ahead would lead me to ever stopped me, Scully?"

The corners of her mouth rise into one of those lovely smiles that make the bridge of her nose crease and you're thrilled because this smile is genuine, and it's meant for you, and the best thing is, you have elicited it from her. You haven't done this in a very long time. After having made her sad for you don't know how long, you eventually made her feel good again, you made her smile. If that isn't a valid first step. There might be a million steps more for you to take, but you're willing to face every single one. Uphill, downhill, through the desert or the Antarctic, you might do a step or two backward at times, but you will keep going. And you will be your former self again. Maybe you'll end up with a reformed version of Fox William Mulder even, freed of some of the traumas of your past that had pushed you to the dark place of complete hopelessness you'd been in a few months ago.

"You know me, Scully. The smaller the chance, the more unlikely the theory, the more determined I am to show you I was right."

"Yes...yes, I know you do, and I rely on it."

You lock your eyes with hers in one of those looks you used to give each other in another life, before the loss of a child and the impediments of an existence in seclusion had taken their toll on your relationship. You connected gazing at each other like this at a time you were each other's touchstones, and maybe this means that you still are.

All has been said, that's why you stand up and move in the direction of the door. When you reach it, you desperately try to think of something else to talk about - the weather, the last book you read, medical research - it doesn't matter, something, anything, just to have a reason to stay. You turn around and find her right behind you, her delicate hand already reaching for the door knob. It seems you've missed your chance to prolong your being here, but then she catches you off-guard when she leans in. For a split-second you think she's going to kiss you on the lips which she isn't doing, of course, she's in a relationship with another man, but she kisses you on the forehead.

The nerve endings start shooting electrical sparks through your body the moment her soft lips make contact with your skin. The forehead kiss has lost nothing of its magic, you realize. It's as intimate an act as ever. You shared a lot of those before you turned your relationship from one of co-workers into one of lovers. More than once, you wanted to travel from her forehead to her lips but never dared. Once you almost did it, but then a bee carrying a deadly virus came in the way. You can't explain why today of all days you feel bold enough to make the journey, but before you're able to rethink, your lips are on hers and the familiar, much longed for sensation is your undoing.

You cannot do anything against it, your body acts on its own. Your hands go into her hair, your body presses her small frame against the front door she wanted to usher you out of mere seconds ago, and your tongue slides over her lips. You've ceased thinking, you're acting on pure instinct and the sensation is too overwhelming for you to be able to stop. You hear Scully moan quietly. Her knees buckle and bump into your shins. When you feel her tongue caressing yours and her body melting into yours, all you want to do is carry her into the bedroom and devour her.

From the depths of your conscience, various memories make it to the surface with a vengeance: how soft her naked skin feels, how her warmth used to envelop you, how you became one when you were buried deep inside her. You've lost your grip on the world around you, of time and space. You plunge head-on into the sensation the moment offers you, although there's this voice at the back of your head telling you that this is not right. It's yelling at you that overwhelming her with your yearning for her is not fair. You're playing her off against her emotions, taking advantage of the soft spot she still has for you.

Not fair!

The voice is demanding of you to stop, to stop it right now before she lets you carry the matter too far and compromise her. It's the most difficult thing you had to do ever, but you grab her shoulders to push your bodies apart and pull back, your mouth leaving hers with a loud smack. Her head falls back and bangs against the door. She's panting with her eyes closed. Her hair is disheveled, her cheeks rosy and her lips swollen. She looks so alluring that it takes all your willpower not to crush your lips right back onto hers.

Both of you are gasping for air, Scully with her back leaned against the door, you frozen into a pillar of salt. You can't believe what you just did. You wronged the women who offered you her friendship overpowering her with your frenzied, base lusts. You stare at her, guilt-stricken and self-conscious. In the not so unlikely case that she throws you out of her apartment and tells you that she doesn't want to see you ever again, you couldn't complain.

It takes her a while to recompose herself and to get her breathing back under control. You startle when her eyes suddenly jump open and two pools of blue transfix you. "God, Mulder," she breathes and you hear shock and disbelief in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Scully, so sorry. I'm beyond sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Please, forgive me. You have to forgive me," you beg.

She takes another deep inhale without taking her eyes off of you. You can't read from her face. There's no way for you to predict how she's going to react. When she starts to speak, you hold your breath.

"And I thought I would have to go to bed unkissed tonight after Mark had left," she says with a deadpan expression.

"I'm such an asshole, Scully. I don't know what had gotten into me."

Her left eyebrow shoots up. "You don't know why you kissed me?"

"Of course I do, but I'm not sure you want to hear it."

Another moment of silence occurs, the unspoken words billowing between you before she speaks again. "Mulder, don't look at me like you've been told you can't have ice cream for breakfast."

"Are you mad?"

"No, I'm not mad. I didn't exactly fight back, did I? It was...nice. I've almost forgotten what a great kisser you are, but..." she licks her lips, "...this doesn't change anything of what I said earlier."

"I listened to what you said, Scully, and I understood. I'm not going to get this wrong, but I will live off it for a long time. The memory will keep me going. The notion of being allowed to kiss you like this again some day in the future will push me further."

"Mulder-"

"No promises," you interrupt her, "only chances, I know. That's enough for me. For now."

Her lips rise into a tight-lipped smile. "You never cease to amaze me, Mulder."

"I should jolly well hope so!"

She shakes her head and chuckles. "What I would've missed if I hadn't accepted that assignment to work with one Fox Spooky Mulder all those years ago."

"You would've been spared quite a bit, Scully."

"But I would've missed so much more. Mulder...I regret nothing."

She keeps telling you this, using different words like 'I'd do it all over again' or 'I wouldn't have wanted another life', but always meaning that she's happy with how everything has turned out. Despite her reassuring you, sometimes you have problems believing it, picturing the life she could have had as a mother to a bunch of beautiful children and a wife to a nice guy. To someone like Mark.

Mark.

Time for you to quit the field. Leaving you alone with her, Mark had demonstrated a certain amount of trust in you, a trust you bitterly betrayed. He's most certainly waiting for her to call him to let him know everything is alright.

Will she tell him about the kiss? Probably not as it isn't the beginning of something, it's no threat to their relationship. You tasted a bit of what your past relationship consisted of when times were good and being together was all that was important. Maybe - maybe - you've also tasted some of your future, you don't know. You hope, but you can't be sure.

You're willing to let her try a normal life. A life with a well-situated, good-looking real estate agent who asks her for dates, who brings her flowers and calls her by her first name. You face the risk of losing her to that mundane kind of life, to a life without monsters and conspiracies where the darkness retreats with every sunrise and doesn't linger on for the entire day, darkening the sky with its heavy, gray clouds. With that risk you have to live, it's the only chance you have to win her back.

"What if you put that beautiful black dress on and I gave you a ride to the art gallery you told me about? Call Mark and tell him you're going to meet him there. The night is still young, you can still have a glass of free champagne."

She tilts her head and squints one eye suspiciously. "Mulder, are you serious?"

"I materialise in front of your door out of thin air with the lame excuse of bringing you two half empty bottles of shampoo and shower gel, I chase your spiffy date away, I yammer about how tough my life is without you, and as if this wasn't enough, I pin you to the door mounting some kind of kissing attack on you...I'd say I owe you one."

You meant every word you said and are therefore veritably flabbergasted that your admission is obviously amusing her. A grin tugs at the corners of her mouth she desperately tries to suppress, in vain. Eventually, she chuckles.

"And I told Mark you'd never lay a hand on me."

"Yeah, well, a slight misconception from your side. I would cut my hand off, though, rather than hurt you."

She gasps. "You heard us?"

"It was impossible not to hear you. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, you didn't."

"Good, good. So...uh, what about that lift to the gallery?"

"Thanks for offering, but no. I'd rather spend the rest of the evening alone. I need to contemplate a few things."

"Okay. Fine. Uhm...are we good?"

"Sure, Mulder, we're good."

"Great. Would you mind if I ever dropped by again? I'd even issue a pre-warning."

She emits another amused chuckle. "I'd appreciate an announcement, but don't call it a warning. I don't need to be warned of you. Just let me know when you're on your way over so I can get dressed and have the tea ready when you get here."

"You could also drive out to the house. There's still some of the organic green tea in the pantry, the one you like so much."

"I'd like that."

"Me too," you reply shyly.

Like it? You'd be thrilled to entertain her. You might even bake an apple pie for her following her mother's recipe which Maggie wrote down some years ago for you on the inside of one of the few cookbooks you had.

"Bye, Mulder. Thanks for stopping by. Despite the...uh...unexpected circumstances, it was good to see you. I'm glad we found a common ground again."

She turns around to open the door, exposing her reverse side and the special spot you've touched a million times at the small of her back. Your hand goes there as if remote-controlled. You could swear you feel her shudder and it feels so familiar for a moment, but this time you come to your senses in time. Everything is different now, so you remove your hand and give her shoulder a friendly squeeze when you walk past her through the door into the hallway.

"Bye, Scully. Thanks for everything."

"Take care, Mulder."

You exchange one last look, then she closes the door and her face is replaced by the numbers you stared at two hours ago: three - seven - nine. You look at your watch and set it to stopwatch mode. The timer tells you it's been eleven months, two weeks, five days, ten hours, fourteen minutes and twenty-five seconds since she left. You press the little button again to reset, it says 0:00:00 now. You press it again and the time starts running.


	3. Men Among Themselves

**Blutendes Herz III  
** (Bleeding Heart)

 _Author's Note: This is not really a consecutive story but the chapters build upon one another somehow._

* * *

You hear the grinding noise of heavy footsteps on the gravel in front of your house and you ask yourself who's coming out here on foot this time of day to pay you an unannounced visit. You hear a knock at the door. You sigh. You've just come home and were looking forward to some relaxation time on the couch with a movie and a bowl of popcorn. Out of habit, you put your hand on your hip where your gun used to be in its holster, but since you ran from prison you're not licensed to carry a gun anymore.

You're surprised when you recognize the person on your porch through the screen door. It's one you would never have expected to come by your place. You step outside to meet your visitor.

"How do you know where I live?"

The man on your porch shrugs his shoulders. He's tensed-up and rakes nervously through his hair with his fingers. This definitely isn't a goodwill visit.

"I was waiting for Dana in front of her apartment in my car earlier. 24-hour emergency shifts always take a toll on her, so I wanted to surprise her with Chinese takeout for dinner. Imagine my surprise when I saw her crawling out of your rust bucket when you dropped her off. I figured I needed to have a word with you, so I followed you."

You called the hospital earlier to find out when Doctor Scully's shift would be over. You knew her car was broken and you didn't want her to take the bus home after the 24-hour shift on her duty roster she'd told you about. She didn't know you were coming to give her a ride and when you opened the passenger door for her you could tell she wasn't sure whether this was such a good idea, but she was simply too exhausted to refuse. So she climbed into the passenger seat, buckled up and threw you a warm smile. 'Thank you, Mulder,' she said, 'very thoughtful of you.' You hoped to be able to talk to her, but by the time you left the parking lot, she was already asleep.

Turns out you weren't the only gentleman in her life. Her boyfriend also wanted to care for her with providing dinner. She loves Chinese takeout and you ask yourself whether he'd gotten her favorite dish, #37 of the Szechuan House's menu.

"I was being followed all the way from downtown D.C. and haven't even noticed? Wow, I guess I'm a little out of practice."

"I drive a silver Toyota Camry, you must have had a dozen of those in your rearview mirror on your way home, it's one of the best-selling cars in the US. When we got off the highway, I stayed behind as far as I could and let other cars come between us, and when you got out to open the gate to your property, I killed my engine. I left the car down there and walked the last part not to announce myself by stirring up the dirt on your private road. Well, I didn't know you lived two miles from the main road." He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

"I'm impressed. You're more circumspect than some of the trained agents I've worked with on pursuits. What do I owe all this effort for?"

"Dana told me about your kiss."

You flinch. Why did she do that? What good did it do either of the three of you to have it out in the open? You should've known though because she's too honest a soul to keep something like this from a boyfriend. So now he's here to confront you about it. Great.

"Shall we go inside?" you offer while opening the screen door. You don't want to discuss your feelings for Scully on the porch. It's too private. The next neighbor lives at least three miles away, not exactly within earshot, but you're so used to keeping your relationship a secret, you can't get rid of the habit. Mark follows you silently.

He looks around when he steps into your home, the one you shared with her for many years. He must recognize her decorating style from what he's seen at her city apartment. His eyes stay quite a bit on the picture of the two of you on the mantlepiece.

Maggie took it during one of the Sunday lunches she used to have at her house. It's your favorite because Scully looks so much at ease and cheerful. You're sitting in Maggie's backyard on the wooden bench under the huge chestnut tree. The afternoon sun sheds its warming rays on her hair and dip-paints the environment into soft shades of blue and purple. You have your arm around her shoulder and pull her slightly toward you. You huddle together as if you were sharing s secret, neither of you aware that you are being photographed. You remember the story you had been telling her when the picture was taken, it was some wild tale about a man-eating cult in ancient Egypt. You had made her laugh, something you were able to do back then. Maggie had captured the lightness of the moment and your togetherness perfectly. She gave the framed picture to you as a Christmas present that year and it's been in on the mantlepiece ever since.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" you ask your visitor to tear his attention away from the picture.

"Do you have a beer?"

"Only non-alcoholic, I'm afraid."

"That's fine."

You stopped drinking alcohol when you started your therapy because it doesn't go well with your medication, but a cold afternoon beer on a hot summer day is nice, so you tried all kinds of brands until you found a non-alcoholic beer you liked. It's a German beer, not available everywhere and quite expensive, but you always have a few bottles in the fridge. You open the refrigerator door, grab two green beer bottles and hand him one.

"Thanks," he says, twisting the cap off. He takes a thirsty swig, nods appreciatively, then places the bottle on the kitchen counter.

As he isn't saying anything, you also put the bottle to your lips and swallow a few gulps. It's refreshing and also a bit calming, although there's no alcohol in it. You're anxious to talk to him. It's not really an every-day thing to talk to the current boyfriend of your former lover and life-partner. After a while, you can't stand the silence anymore.

"Are you going to tell me why you're here, Mark?"

"What? Uh, yes. Sure."

He shoves his fists into his pants pockets and stares at his feet. He clears his throat before he eventually starts to speak.

"Listen, Fox...ah, sorry...Mulder. This calling you by your last name just doesn't come to me easily." He coughs uncomfortably. "I'd like to talk about Dana with you, well...about your relationship with her."

"Why don't you ask her about it?"

"All she tells me is that you were a couple and that you are friends now."

"It's the truth."

"Ah, c'mon, there has to be more to it. I'm not dumb. The way she talks about you, with so much affection. And I saw you gazing at her when you were at her place the other day. That's not how a man looks at a platonic lady friend. You still have a picture of the two of you in your living-room over there, for Christ's sake!" His fidgets with his index finger pointing in the direction of the fireplace.

"It's not so unusual to keep a picture of the person you were together with for so many years like I have been with Scully."

"Especially when you're still in love with her."

Your heart skips a beat. He challenges you, tries to worm a few details out of you. You doubt that denial is an option, all the evidence indicates that he's right. That's why you decide to be honest. At least, partly.

"We've been through too much together not to have feelings for one another. That's never going to change, but we aren't lovers, Mark. She left me a year ago and she is with you now."

"Is it a year now?" he deadpans grimly and you wince. He's alluding to you letting Scully and him know that you'd been very meticulous in timing the weeks and days of your separation.

"Yeah, sorry, that was absolutely inappropriate."

"If you think that was inappropriate, then what would you call kissing her as soon as I was gone?"

Way out of line? Bloody stupid? An unbelievable loss of control? "A terrible mistake and I'm truly sorry. You trusted me and I betrayed your trust. I wronged Scully. Hell, I more or less molested her. I overpowered her."

"That's not what she said happened."

"No?"

"She told me she hadn't encouraged you or started it, but that she reciprocated in a way."

In a way. Oh, yes. She reciprocated in a wonderful way. You remember what her kiss tasted like, and as much as you feel like doing right now, you mustn't lick your lips, because he definitely wouldn't approve.

"Don't hold it against her. She did it more by force of habit than anything else. The second I let go of her, she made more than clear that she's in a relationship with you and that us exchanging a kiss wasn't going to change anything."

"Oh, really?" He doesn't sound like he believes you.

"Really. She's serious about you, Mark. She's willing to rekindle our friendship, not more. I let it deteriorate, I treated her badly in the end. I was a regular asshole, actually. She gives me a chance to make it up to her, that's all."

You see him letting sink in what you just told him. It is the truth, albeit only part of it, and he senses it, but you won't give away more of what Scully's and your relationship consists of, of what brought you to the point where you are now. You're not going to tell him about how she entered your hemisphere, how she upgraded your professional as well as your private life, how she made you a better person, a father. You're not going to tell him about how you dragged her into the darkness with you, separating her first from her life as an agent, a friend, a daughter, turning her into an outlaw, and then eventually separating her from you and letting her starve emotionally right in front of your eyes.

"Hard to believe. You don't seem like the kind of man who contents himself with playing second fiddle."

The atmosphere between you thickens, the almost cordial mood of a few minutes ago is gone. He obviously wants to do some frank talking. You're not sure if you're ready for this. You haven't figured everything out about Scully and yourself yet, how can you make someone else understand? And it's definitely not getting any easier if this someone is a man fighting for his relationship with Scully. Your Scully.

"You want an honest reply, Mark?"

"Definitely. I'm an advocate of direct, straightforward communication."

He wants you to put your cards on the table? Alright, then. You're going to be as straightforward as he wants you to be.

"Okay, then let's talk openly. I am still in love with Scully, you're absolutely right. I can't even remember a time I wasn't. We have a history of more than twenty years together. We had our ups and downs, but the other had always been a constant factor in our lives. I thought this would never change, that she would always be there, but some time ago, I developed a severe depression, one she diagnosed me with, and that was what killed our relationship. I was a real prick. I mistreated her, neglected her, shut myself away from her, up to a point where moving out was the only way for her to protect herself."

"And what kind of relationship is it you've been having? I think I have a right to know!"

"It's always been very special. Our colleagues thought we were having sex long before we actually had it. They had a nickname for us, Mr. and Mrs. Spooky, because we were so close."

"Spooky?"

"Yeah, well, because of the cases we were dealing with, but that's not the point. What I'm trying to say is that Scully has been my closest ally ever since she was assigned back in 1992 to work with me. There was a time all we had was one another. I have difficulties picturing my life without her in it."

"How come you never married her? I went down on my knees and asked the woman I loved to spend the rest of my life with me."

"What would we have called each other as a married couple? Mulder and Mulder?"

You try to skirt the uncomfortable question, your feigned easiness nothing but a feeble attempt to hide how much this matter has occupied your mind over the years, but he looks right through you.

"Lousy joke, man!"

You chin dips on your chest. You feel caught, and you allow your mind to walk down memory lane. You've always enjoyed when you acted as husband and wife. You did once undercover and many times when you were on the run. You never had a problem introducing her as your wife, it never felt awkward. You did ask her once to marry you, over the phone. You were totally earnest but she thought you were joking. You never set it right, and you never asked again.

"I think I never proposed because I never saw the type of woman in her whose goal in life was to get married. She was always independent and self-sufficient and proud of it. She wasn't in need of a man to provide for her or to protect her. Heaven forbade I told her I was going to take care of something because I was the man." You chuckle, remembering a few situations she'd gotten furious because you had done just that, one where she called you a macho man in particular. "Turning her into a married woman, a better half, would've been like undermining her autonomy."

You also remember her sour face when people assumed she was your 'missus'. She fought half her life to be respected as an equal, and you have never seen anything less in her than an equal. If one of you wasn't able to hold a candle to the other, it had to be you.

"The general laws of romance somehow never applied to us. We didn't date, weren't each other's Valentines. I didn't buy her flowers and she didn't buy me ties. We showed our love and respect in other ways. Marriage simply was a concept too commonplace to live up to the distinct nature of our relationship."

"Hmmm, interesting. It's one of a kind, really. I mean, she left you, you're separated, if you had been married, she might have filed for a divorce, and still, she cares a lot about you."

Maybe it's not so bad you were never married after all because as an unmarried couple you never got a divorce. It would've been very painful for you, devastating probably. You doubt you would've had the strength to get treatment for your illness, had you been confronted with the administrative finality of divorce papers. What a lucky bastard you are, you think.

"You can say that again," Mark mumbles accompanied by a bitter chuckle. You must have uttered that last sentence aloud.

"Scully's friendship is very precious to me, Mark. It has saved me more times than I can count. I can't let her just go and leave my life."

"As far as I know, you already did. Dana told me you didn't even try to hold her back or convince her to stay when she moved out. She said you probably realized she was gone only days later."

"I was ill," is your feeble excuse.

"You were an inconsiderate asshole. And you think you still deserve her?"

Have you ever deserved her?

"And who are you to determine who deserves her and who doesn't?" Now that the tone has become considerably sharper between you, you decide that offense is the best defense.

"Well, I'm treating her like a woman, to begin with. I take her out to dinner, I compliment her, I buy her roses." - Yeah, you have noticed those fucking roses in her apartment! - "I don't call her by her last name as if she were some co-worker of mine and I certainly don't mount frenzied kissing attacks on her either."

Ouch, that last one hurt. You clearly mistreated her in that situation.

"I already told you it was a mistake and that it won't happen again. I told you more about Scully and me than I've ever told anyone before. What else do you want from me?"

He's eying you, weighing your testimony. He takes another swig of beer without taking his eyes away from you. "Why do I have the feeling there's more to your relationship than you're telling me?" he finally asks.

Because there is. There's a joined fight against an almighty opponent. There's going through thick and thin together, crossing entire continents to save each other from peril. There's a sperm donation to a co-worker and a child conceived in a natural way. There's pain and loss, but also unconditional trust and passionate love. There's so much more than what you told him, but you're not going to explain that to him. Your turbulent history belongs to Scully and you, it's almost impossible to make others comprehend even half of it anyway.

Your muteness upsets him, he throws you a combative look. "I'm not quitting the field for you if that's what you're hoping for."

"You'd be an idiot, if you did," you concede. Every man who gives up Scully without a fight is an idiot, so you obviously belong in that category.

"I love her, Mulder, just like you, and I'm going to fight for her. Right now, she's _my_ girlfriend and I demand you respect that."

As much as his announcement causes goosebumps, you acknowledge that Scully's current beau is serious about her. She's no casual affair or meaningless bed bunny, he's in love with her, he cherishes and truly courts her. He's a real threat.

"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife?" Your eyebrow takes a mocking hike.

"Something like that, yeah."

"Forget it, man! I can promise you not to force her into a kiss again but I'm unwilling to give her up like you are."

The two of you stare at each other like two boxers seconds before the referee tells them to box. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to settle this like in the old days, in some kind of a duel. Like whoever sinks more baskets from the three-point line or can do more push-ups gets the girl. He's in good shape though, you have to admit, although you have a slight height advantage.

"So we leave it up to her," he suggests.

"Isn't this the way it should be?"

"Sure."

Of course, there's also a chance that she thinks the two of you are being ridiculous to fight over her like two alpha male orangutans. She might consider giving you both the kiss-off.

"Alright then." Mark empties the bottle and puts it back on the kitchen counter. "Thanks for the beer. And the open words."

"You're welcome."

"I show myself out."

Without deigning you another look, he passes you and strides toward the front door. He grabs the handle, pulls it open, then hesitates. With his back turned to you, he says, "she's worth every effort."

"She definitely is," you can't but agree.

"Goodbye, Mulder."

"Goodbye, Mark."

Dammit, you really like the guy! He's a good person, decent, kind, understanding. Under different circumstances, Mark and you could be friends. He's definitely a man you could see Scully with if only you didn't want to be the man at her side so badly.

You look after him, how he walks the dirt path down to the street where he left his car. You could've offered to drive him, but you doubt it would've been appropriate. You're rivals in a battle for a very precious prize, and you want to be one coming out of it as the winner.


	4. Closure A

**Blutendes Herz IV - Closure A**  
(Bleeding Heart)

 _Author's Note: When I was done writing this, I realized that the ending was difficult for shippers to swallow (and I consider myself one) although I tried to give it a positive connotation. So I decided to do with the ending what I did with the opening and I wrote two different possible plots. Therefore, if this closure scenario upsets you, stay tuned for_ _one more installment to come. It will take a different path at the fork our protagonists come across a few paragraphs further down._

* * *

You're sitting on the couch together with your favorite human being. She's pouring you a third cup of tea.

"Thanks for bringing me my favorite tea, Mulder, but you don't have to find excuses every time you come here. Next time, just give me a call when you're in the area and drop by without any of these stupid pretenses."

You scratch the Mexican blanket, the Casablanca DVD, and the funny little porcelain fox she once bought at a garage sale off your mental list. "I hate coming with empty hands, Scully," you reply, not telling her that deep down you're afraid that just you alone is not enough to make your visit worthwhile. That's why you always bring her something she'd left at the house when she moved out.

Just when you started to relax a little, you hear a distinct knock at the door. Your pulse instantly accelerates because of the foreboding sound, whereas she seems to be a picture of calm. "Sounds like Mark. What does he want? When has it become out of style for a man to give a woman a chance to dress properly and freshen up her makeup before he shows up at her doorstep?" she whines, tying her robe tighter. She combs through her hair and rubs her cheeks. You want to tell her that she looks perfect the way she is, that she doesn't need makeup or perfectly styled hair to be beautiful, but you only give her a short, apologetic shrug and sink deeper into the couch cushions, wondering what excuse he might have to drop by at her place just like that.

"Sorry for coming unannounced, my love, but I missed you so much and a man can only wait so long. Impossibly another whole day."

Alright, no pretenses from his side. He's painfully frank about why he's here and his open infatuation is like a cold fist squeezing your heart.

Before Scully is able to reply something, he licks the words off her tongue with a juicy kiss. He shoves her backward into the living-room, his lips glued on hers, maneuvering her to the couch you're sitting on. He obviously plans to engage her in a veritable makeout session, maybe even more, because he clearly wants to plant her flat out on the comfortable piece of furniture. Unfortunately, your long legs are in the way. You try to pull your feet back, but there's not enough space, so you can't prevent him from stumbling over them.

"What the..." he hisses. It takes him a moment to assess what has just happened, but then his facial features morph from utter surprise into boundless fury in a matter of nanoseconds. "You? What the hell are you doing here?" he bellows at you, clearly not pleased at all to see you.

As there is no real justification for you to be here other than that you, like him, simply wanted to see her, and you doubt he would be amused by this one, all you can come up with is the same excuse you gave her earlier.

"I brought Scully a box of tea she forgot at our house." If this feeble attempt to explain your being here wasn't so damn embarrassing, you might have burst into laughter at how ridiculous you sound. But you don't feel like laughing, and neither does he.

"What? You brought her tea? A year after she left you? Are you kidding me?" His voice has become louder with every word. In the end, he's yelling at you.

"Mark," the receiver of the tea intervenes, "would you calm down, please. There's no need to shout like this."

"Who knows how many times I've seen him here? Four, five? And how often has he been here without me even knowing? Huh, Dana?"

"You're not seriously expecting me to give you an account of who I meet with when you're not around, are you?" Her eyes indicate quite clearly that his boring questions are pissing her off. You've never seen her eyebrows melt into her hairline like this, and you've been at the receiving end of her indignation countless times. You're an expert, actually, on what she looks like when she's mad.

Mark is unwavering tough in his current state of anger. "You're entertaining other men in your pajamas when I'm not here, Dana, and it's supposed to leave me cold? Really?"

Your breath is halted. Of course, he doesn't know that Scully in a robe was so common to you even before you became romantically involved that it really is no big deal. Actually, you haven't really noticed she was in her pajamas when you got here until she said she would go change quickly and you told her not to be silly. You saw each other in hospital gowns, nightwear, undergarments, naked more than any other working duo on the planet, so seeing your former spouse in a pair of flannel PJs underneath a thick white terry cloth robe isn't inappropriate one bit. For you, that is. His attitude varies slightly from yours.

"What are you implying here, Mark?" Scully asks tight-lipped, although it's pretty obvious. Regardless that he is miles off target with his suspicions, you feel a pleasant twitch in your groin. An unexpected, yet very pleasant one.

"He's more to you than just a _friend_ , right?"

There, he speaks it out. His voice is weirdly distorted when he draws imaginable quotation marks into the air pronouncing the word 'friend'.

* * *

 **CLOSURE A - Shippers Beware There Be Sea Serpents In These Waters!**

It takes you a moment until you fully comprehend what his innuendo is an expression of but then you get it. He fears he's losing her. He really believes you're on a mission to take her away from him, which you aren't, regardless what your best member just told you. All you want at this stage is to be allowed to share her company once in a while, to make her a part of your life again after you had abandoned her so wantonly. Your motives might change someday in the future, but you're true when you're saying that for now, all you want is to have your camaraderie back.

"Mark, let me explain my-" you therefore start but are instantly silenced by him.

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Mulder! I haven't asked you, have I? Can I please have a word with my girlfriend without you butting in?"

"Don't do this, Mark," you hear Scully whisper and you offer to go. This is shifting slowly but surely into a serious relationship argument between the two of them. You're a thorn in his side and the reason for him being mad at her, you should vanish as quickly as possible to let them settle this.

"No, Mulder, you stay. We've got nothing to hide. You're my guest and we were having tea, and I don't see any reason why you should leave." She can be stubborn if she wants to make a point.

"You're choosing him over me?" The shock and disbelief in his voice are unmistakable. "Now, that says it all!"

"That says nothing at all! Mulder and I were having tea, nothing more and nothing less. And by the way, you came here unannounced just like he did, only that he was here first. So what makes you believe you are any more entitled to stay than he is?"

"Because I am your _boyfriend_ for starters?"

You can tell he's risking his neck with his careless talk. You know how much Scully hates chauvinistic predominance such as this. You're a bit surprised by this intense eruption of jealousy and possessiveness on Mark's part. Until now, he's always been so laid-back when you were around.

"Are you saying that your being here is more legitimate than Mulder's because we sleep together? Is that where this is going?"

"Yes, exactly," he sputters, obviously quicker than he intended to because as soon as the last syllable has left his mouth, his face contorts into a painful grimace. "No! No, of course, not! All I'm saying is...what I'm trying to say, is...ugh!"

"What? You weren't shy blurting out what was on the tip of your tongue a moment ago, why are you being so reserved all of a sudden?"

Boy, is she pissed. She's eyeing him defiantly, unwilling to yield even a millimeter. Her voice is calm, frighteningly so, but you know this posture of hers: feet hip-width apart, straightened knees, arms crossed in front of her chest, head slightly tilted, chin lifted. Every muscle in her tiny body is strained. She's like a rattlesnake ready to jump at her prey.

Her body language isn't failing to take effect, he realizes he overreacted. "Dammit, Dana," he says in a much softer voice now, completely bereft of the sharpness it bore a few moments ago, "I was simply taken off guard by the two of you cozily spending the afternoon together on your couch. I'm sorry I lashed out at you like this, I had no right to do that. Apologies to you too, Mulder. It was a bit over the top."

You stop him with a shake of your hand. "It's okay. Already forgiven and forgotten."

Scully is also appeased. She resolves her rigid body posture, closes the gap between them and ruffles his hair as if he were a little boy. "That wasn't a bit _over the top_ , Mark, it was completely out of proportion. What has gotten into you?"

"For a second I pictured the two of you having something going on behind my back. I mean, you're in your robe, Dana! I simply saw red," he admits meekly, his raw honesty disarming.

"That's ridiculous, Mark. I would never do something like this."

"Yeah, I know. Now that my pulse is back to normal, I know." He shows her his grim face.

"Men," she sighs, "why do you always have to be so territorial?"

"It's in our genes, Scully," you defend your gender and him along with it, "when we've found our girl, we bite away everyone who comes near her."

"Oh, so you approve of such a behavior?"

"I would've probably reacted the same way."

Definitely. Maybe even worse.

"So you're saying this pathetic urge to stake one's claim is something men can't do anything against, that it's a natural reaction?"

She looks at both of you, waiting for an answer. "In a way, yes," you eventually say and Mark nods his assent with some determination.

Scully rolls her eyes, then pinches the bridge of her nose, a distressed sigh escaping her chest. "I don't believe this," she whispers to herself. "You two hobby biologists realize that I'm a trained medical doctor and very proficient when it comes to the nature of human instincts and impulses?"

"But you're a woman, baby," Mark pipes up, "you don't know what we men feel when a rival steps into our line of vision."

"Mulder is no rival. How often do I have to tell you, Mark?"

"I get that now, Dana, but that doesn't change the fact that I thought he could be." He's wearing a contrite face, appealing to her with puppy eyes which are in no way less powerful than yours. Maybe, it's a typical male thing, to apply that small boy pattern when trying to soften a woman's heart. "C'mere," he breathes, his voice velvety and silky now. He holds his hand out to her, but she's ignoring it, maybe because she's still a little annoyed by his impulsive reaction. He is not deterred, though. He steps closer, really close, so close she can no longer overlook him. He lifts her chin with a finger to make her eyes meet his, then explains, "my exaggerated reaction is simply a sign of how much I'm in love with you. I'm willing to compete with every guy who dares to lay an eye on you. I don't even care if he carries a gun."

You're not licensed to carry a gun anymore, and as long as you're on psychiatric drugs to fight your depression, you won't be. Too bad, actually. You'd like to see if he'd walk the pompous talk with your Glock pointed at his head. You're somewhat certain those syrupy words speaking of his claim of owning her must annoy her, but to your complete bewilderment instead of rolling her eyes and quirking an eyebrow she smiles at him. You stare at her how her body relaxes into his, how her cheek melts into his hand. She casts her eyes down like a teenage girl being sweet-talked by her first beau. He's definitely struck the right chord with her.

What you see simultaneously amazes and disgusts you. The way she's at peace with herself is wonderful. She seems so content and relaxed. It's just him, Mark, who destroys the picture for you.

You clear your throat and make her jump away from him with it. She puts a hand to her chest and gasps. She'd obviously forgotten you're still in the room. "Sorry," you mumble. You could say that you didn't mean to startle her like this, that your sole intention was to protect yourself from having to see them interact so intimately, but you don't, of course. The time has definitely come for you to leave them alone for whatever they are up to - caressing, kissing, make-up sex.

You swallow down the bile which is rising up your food pipe. It leaves an acid trail behind. You take your eyes off of them by pretending to look at the watch on your wrist. "Oh, is it that late already? I forgot that I have an appointment with my tax accountant," you lie. "Gotta go."

"Oh, okay," is all she replies. "I walk you out."

Sure thing, now she lets you go. She doesn't even tell you to say hi to Mrs. Sanderson, your neighbor, who has been filing both your tax declarations for years. She's simply not with you at the moment, she's focussing on him - her boyfriend, her lover, her whatever - who's still holding her hand. Somehow you wished she would tell you to stay once again, but of course, she doesn't. She wants to be alone with him. If you ever felt like the fifth wheel, it has to be now.

"It's okay, Scully. I show myself out."

You don't look back when you close the door to her apartment behind you. You lean against the wall in the hallway and take a few deep breaths to steady your pulse. You hear them talk to each other inside, the walls are not very thick apparently. Their voices are getting louder for a moment when they pass the front door and then quieter again. You hear the hardwood creak under their feet. Are they on their way to the bedroom? Probably. You hear a girlish giggle and then the closing of a door, the bedroom door. Then there's only silence, and you're thankful for it. It turns the cinema in your head off and lets you take inventory of your emotions.

What are you feeling right now, Fox Mulder? If you leave your hurt pride aside that she's chosen him over you in there, what are you feeling?

To your utter bewilderment, you're doing okay. Your heart is still beating and is not shattered into a million pieces. You're breathing normally and not hyperventilating. You're not sinking to the floor because your legs give way but are standing upright, albeit steadied by the wall behind you. You might be able to survive this, you acknowledge. You might be able to live with the fact that your Scully is with another man. How is that possible? Dr. Summers really must be one hell of a therapist.

You let your feet carry you away. Away from this place, away from her, away from your faint hopes for a revival of the romance between you. But it's okay. You feel capable of dealing with this, of accepting the reality as it is. You will have to find another common ground with her, that will be your new project.

* * *

 **EPILOGUE**

"Mr. Mulder," the postman waives at you, "good to see you again. It's been a while."

You've just exited your car to open the gate to your property. You're about to drive downtown to see your therapist. You've been in need of a few extra sessions to deal with the recent developments in your life. Rob, the postman, is filing through the mail in the back of his van to sort out yours. With a few letters in his hand and a small parcel, he comes over to you.

"Here, this is for you, sir."

"Same junk as ever?" you ask.

"This one here looks special. Handwritten address."

He hands you your bulk of mail with said letter on top. You take it and weigh it in your hand. It's been a while since you've received mail like this. The last time it was a birth announcement of a distant cousin's third child. Same thick, sophisticated paper, same calligraphic handwritten address.

You swallow. You recognize the handwriting. It's elegant but unfussy, just like the person it belongs to. You've been expecting this but still, it hits you. It's final now. You will have to talk to Doctor Summers about it today.

"Good news, I hope," Rob says, trying to get some small talk going, but you're not in the mood, although he really is a nice guy.

You point at your wristwatch. "I have to get going, Rob. Excuse me, please. I have an appointment in the city."

"Sure. Just hop into your car and let me close the gate behind you."

"Thank you, and have a good day."

"You too, Mr. Mulder."

You doubt it will be a good day.

You throw the envelope on the passenger seat so carelessly that it skitters down into the messy footwell. You didn't mean to treat it like this, so you bent forward to look for it between all the junk. When you feel the firm paper under your paws, you pull it out and inspect it. Your muddy running shoes have left some of the dirt you'd brought in after your last run on the front. You blow it off and place the envelope on the seat again, with more care this time.

You put the car in drive and hit the road, determined to make to Dr. Summers' practice without any further delay. You concentrate on the road and the car in front of you, trying to take your mind off the envelope, but you can't. It's as if it's whispering to you. 'Open me,' it says, 'you want to, don't you?' So, after another mile or so you pull over, put the car in park, grab the letter and hastily rip the envelope open, tearing right through the curvy letters of your address. You even tear off a corner of the card inside along with it. Well, who cares, you're not going to stick it to your fridge like you did with the birth announcement. You still don't know what you did that for anyway, you never liked that particular cousin very much.

You unfold the card but close your eyes to protect yourself from the words. You hear your therapist's voice in your inner ear. 'Fox,' - she insists to call you by your first name, which is okay for you in her case - 'no denying! Look at what is and deal with it.' So you open your eyes and stare at the letters for a few long moments without blinking until the words blur in front of your burning eyes.

 _Dana Katherine Scully_  
 _&_  
 _Mark Spencer Finlay_

 _Joyfully Invite You to Celebrate Their Marriage_  
 _Saturday the Twenty Seventh of December Two Thousand and Fourteen_  
 _at Five o'Clock in the Afternoon at The Atrium at Meadowlark Botanical Gardens_

 _Join us for Cocktails and an Evening of Dining and Dancing_

You lean your head against the backrest and swallow. A car passes by at maximum speed and the draft in its wake shakes yours. She told you about the Botanical Gardens and how she would love to hold the reception there. You redirect your eyes to the card in your lap, you know there's more.

 _Moultrie Courthouse, room 1013, 11 a.m. sharp!_ is scribbled across the announcement in a stiff, angular hand. Further below, as if written in an afterthought, you recognize the cursive and neat letters you are so familiar with. _Thank you so much for doing this for me. Part of me will always belong to you. Love, D._

When she first asked you, you wondered why she was being so cruel. It took you a moment until you understood that she can't do this without you. She needs you to set her free, to release her from what binds her to you. So you agreed to be a witness to her marriage and she fell into your arms and cried. The moment reminded you of when you had agreed to donate sperm for her to become pregnant. Like back then, you were unable to deny her request but also uncertain of what it would do to you. All you instantly knew was that you'd lost her. Not entirely, no, she would still be a part of your life as your friend, your doctor, and - it still makes your heart heavy every time you think of it - as the mother of your child, but you lost her heart in the way it had belonged to you for the past twenty years.

You startle when a tear splashes on the card and smears the blue ink of her words. You thought you'd made your peace with this, but a contradictory mix of emotions settles in your chest.

You're happy for her, you really are. Over the last months, since you rekindled after your separation, you've seen her thrive like a flower that has eventually been watered again after weeks of drought. The rosy color of her cheeks had come back, her hair was shiny again and her eyes were sparkling. She laughed a lot, really laughed, no wry smiles or soft chuckles but wholehearted laughter. You even caught her giggling like a schoolgirl. You know that giggle, you used to elicit it from her in bed a long time ago, in another life. She'd been exuberating carefree easiness and elation with every fiber of her being since she started dating him. She even put on a few pounds with the many times she was taken out to dinner. It made her even more beautiful, something you hadn't believed was even possible.

So, you're happy for her. All you ever wanted for her was to have a life full of normalcy, stability and, most of all, light. Mark Spencer Finlay is able to give her exactly that: light. With him, there's no everpresent darkness, no oppressive silence, no leaden weltschmerz. You remember how she once begged you to take her away from the darkness as far as possible. You'd helped to find a missing FBI agent and your involvement in the gruesome case had threatened to pull the both of you down into the abyss again. You took her to a Carribean island and you spent three wonderful months there, but deep down you knew you would fail her, that the black shadows would follow you. And they did, more fiercely than ever before. So you _are_ happy for her. Really and truly.

But.

Your throat tightens suddenly and your heart starts pounding in your chest. She's going to marry another man! Fuck!

She even told you she'd be taking his name. Jesus, Dana Katherine Finlay!? This person sounds like a stranger to you, like a completely different woman. Will you still be allowed to call her Scully?

You startle once again when your cell is buzzing in your pocket. Since when are you so thin-skinned and jumpy? A look at the caller ID tells you it's her. You take the call, although you're not sure you're in a condition to talk to her.

"Yes?"

"Mulder, it's me." I knew that you could tell her, but you smile instead. At least some things never change. "Where are you?"

Funny how with the invention of the mobile phone the first question asked nowadays is always about the whereabouts of the party called. "In the car."

"Don't answer the phone when you're driving," she admonishes you.

"I'm not driving."

You've pulled over to cry over her wedding invitation.

"Good. Where are you going?"

"My therapist."

"Oh, okay...Uhm, did you get the, uh...the invitation?"

"Yes. I'm holding it in my hand as we speak."

"Are you still okay with it?"

"Define okay."

You hear her inhale deeply before she asks tentatively, "are you still okay with being my witness?"

"Scully, I said I would be your witness to your marriage, so I'm going to be your witness. I won't say that I'm looking forward to watching you marry another man, but I will be there delivering my promise."

"Thank you," she breathes into your ear through the phone and the relief you notice in her voice touches you.

You don't know what more to say and neither does she, so there's silence between you. It should be awkward actually, silence on the phone always is, but not between you.

"Mulder?" she finally resumes the conversation.

"Yes, Scully?"

"Are we going to get through this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Am I going to lose you as my touchstone because of this?"

"Will you still need me as a touchstone?"

"Of course!"

"I take it your husband would like to play that part in your life."

"Mulder, my relationship with Mark is totally different from what we have...had...have. Argh! What we _have_! And he understands."

"Does he? Are you sure? He's a man, Scully, and men don't like to share their wives with other men."

"I'm nobody's possession. I haven't been yours and I'm not going to be his. We've talked about this, Mulder. I love him for where he's brought me to in my current life. He's pulled me from a place I didn't want to be anymore."

"A place I dragged you to."

"A place I decided to follow you to, but couldn't bear living in anymore at a certain point. But that doesn't mean that I don't cherish having been there with you. My love for you will never die, Mulder. Never. It may have changed, maybe it has regressed into something similar to what I felt for you at the beginning, but it's still there."

"And what were they exactly, Scully, those feelings at the beginning?"

"Connection. Trust. Loyalty. Passion for the same cause. An overwhelming urge to search for the truth with you."

"Folie á Deux?"

She laughs. "Yes, Mulder. A madness shared by two. Nothing else describes our relationship better, don't you think?"

She may be right. Only that you can't think of spending your life with anyone else but her, but then again, she had made your life better, worthier living, whereas you had only darkened hers. She'd given you twenty of the richest years of her life, you have no right to ask for more.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you go on being my beloved spooky friend?"

"Am I really someone you want in your life, Scully? An unstable, unhinged, unsociable madman?"

"It's your friendship that I want, but only if you want mine too."

You hear her holding her breath in anticipation of your answer. You could tell her that you take whatever you get from her, that the worst that could happen to you would be her walking away from you completely, but you spare her the desperate ring it would have.

"I'd have to look for a new physician and explain my unusual medical history to them."

"Is that all you want me to be? Your physician you see once a year for your medical checkup?"

She didn't get that you were joking. Maybe you sounded a bit too serious. "It was a joke, Scully."

"Oh," she whispers and you hear her stifling a sob.

"Listen, Scully, I will be everything you allow me to be. I will be your friend, your touchstone if needed, your annual patient, maybe even your spooky FBI partner again one day. I will be a witness to your marriage and promise you to keep my mouth shut when the pastor asks if anyone had reasons why the two of you should not be married."

"Mulder, that's an overused dramatic plot device in movies I've never actually heard at one of the several weddings I attended in my life. Besides, there won't be a pastor. We'll be at a courthouse, the ceremony will be held by a judge. We will sign a marriage license and that's it."

"Sounds romantic." You haven't seen Rational Scully for a while, but she sure knows how to keep the mood from getting too sugar-sweet, or god forbids, romantic. "Now don't tell me there won't be a garter auction," you say, trying to sound shocked.

"A garter auction? Are you out of your mind?"

"May I toss rice?"

"To symbolize fertility? At our age? No, thanks!"

"It's also a symbol of prosperity, so I've been told."

"You know how much I rely on superstition when it comes to leading my life, don't you?"

"Sure. So you won't care whose hand is on top when you cut the wedding cake either, right?"

"If you think you'll get a picture of me feeding Mark a slice of a sugar-sweet, multi-tier, buttercream wedding cake, you're mistaken. There will be a variety of miniature cupcakes for dessert and that's it."

If you didn't know her so well, you'd be of the impression that she eliminated everything from the list which makes a wedding memorable. "Will I see you in a wedding dress, at least?"

"The groom is not supposed to know!"

"I'm not the groom."

"Oh...right."

What a delicious Freudian slip! Your heart jumps for joy. In the flow of your banter, she obviously forgot for a second that she will marry someone else and not you.

"I will wear be wearing a wedding dress, yes. Not a white one with all the frills, that would be ridiculous at my age," - of course, a fairytale prince's bride has never been on Rational Scully's bucket list of life dreams - "but I did buy something special for the occasion."

"I can't wait to see it. I bet you will look absolutely stunning."

"I hope Mark will like it."

Now it's your chance to say something nice. "He will love it, of that I'm sure. Even if you showed up in rags, he would be blown away by you. He's a man, Scully, he's in love with you and you will be his bride. Men are simple creatures."

"You're sweet, Mulder. Thank you."

"You're welcome. It will be a wonderful day and don't worry, I will be fine. I will sign your marriage license, I will catch the bouquet, in my humorous speech I will recount some of the weird things we've seen-"

"Don't you dare!"

"-I will have a couple of dry martinis with your mother-in-law and I will end up dancing all night with a hot chick in her mid-twenties."

She laughs. "Just be careful not to overexert yourself, you're far beyond your mid-twenties, Mulder!"

"I age well."

She laughs again. What an enchanting sound. It's worth every effort on your part to make this new thing between the two of you work.

"Hey, Scully. I've got to go. My appointment is to start in about ten minutes. See you at the courthouse on the twenty-seventh. I promise to be on time."

"You better be, unless you want to look for a new physician after all."

Now it's your turn to laugh. "Take care, Scully!"

"You too, Mulder. Drive safely and try to stay within the speed limit. Bye for now."

You end the call with a smile on your face and the certainty that if there's one thing that will never change between you it's the light and easy banter you're both so good at. In this respect, she will always be Scully to you, never Mrs. Mark Finlay.

You hope she tosses you the bouquet.

 **END**


	5. Closure B

**Blutendes Herz V - Closure B**  
(Bleeding Heart)

 _Author's Note: This installment begins exactly like Closure A but features an alternative ending which is supposed to soothe the heartache shippers might have suffered from reading the other one. It takes off at the point where Mark asks Scully what her friendship to Mulder really consists of. You can either re-read the first part or jump right into the flow further below._

 _Thanks to the wonderful VioletStella for helping me find the vivid headlines for both plots._

* * *

You're sitting on the couch together with your favorite human being. She's pouring you a third cup of tea.

"Thanks for bringing me my favorite tea, Mulder, but you don't have to find excuses every time you come here. Next time, just give me a call when you're in the area and drop by without any of these stupid pretenses."

You scratch the Mexican blanket, the Casablanca DVD, and the funny little porcelain fox she once bought at a garage sale off your mental list. "I hate coming with empty hands, Scully," you reply, not telling her that deep down you're afraid that just you alone is not enough to make your visit worthwhile. That's why you always bring her something she'd left at the house when she moved out.

Just when you started to relax a little, you hear a distinct knock at the door. Your pulse instantly accelerates because of the foreboding sound, whereas she seems to be a picture of calm. "Sounds like Mark. What does he want? When has it become out of style for a man to give a woman a chance to dress properly and freshen up her makeup before he shows up at her doorstep?" she whines, tying her robe tighter. She combs through her hair and rubs her cheeks. You want to tell her that she looks perfect the way she is, that she doesn't need makeup or perfectly styled hair to be beautiful, but you only give her a short, apologetic shrug and sink deeper into the couch cushions, wondering what excuse he might have to drop by at her place just like that.

"Sorry for coming unannounced, my love, but I missed you so much and a man can only wait so long. Impossibly another whole day."

Alright, no pretenses from his side. He's painfully frank about why he's here and his open infatuation is like a cold fist squeezing your heart.

Before Scully is able to reply something, he licks the words off her tongue with a juicy kiss. He shoves her backward into the living-room, his lips glued to hers, maneuvering her to the couch you're sitting on. He obviously plans to engage her in a veritable makeout session, maybe even more, because he clearly wants to plant her flat out on the comfortable piece of furniture. Unfortunately, your long legs are in the way. You try to pull your feet back, but there's not enough space, so you can't prevent him from stumbling over them.

"What the..." he hisses. It takes him a moment to assess what has just happened, but then his facial features morph from utter surprise into boundless fury in a matter of nanoseconds. "You? What the hell are you doing here?" he bellows at you, clearly not pleased at all to see you.

As there is no real justification for you to be here other than that you, like him, simply wanted to see her, and you doubt he would be amused by this one, all you can come up with is the same excuse you gave her earlier.

"I brought Scully a box of tea she forgot at our house." If this feeble attempt to explain your being here wasn't so damn embarrassing, you might have burst into laughter at how ridiculous you sound. But you don't feel like laughing, and neither does he.

"What? You brought her tea? A year after she left you? Are you kidding me?" His voice has become louder with every word. In the end, he's yelling at you.

"Mark," the receiver of the tea intervenes, "would you calm down, please. There's no need to shout like this."

"Who knows how many times I've seen him here? Four, five? And how often has he been here without me even knowing? Huh, Dana?"

"You're not seriously expecting me to give you an account of who I meet with when you're not around, are you?" Her eyes indicate quite clearly that his boring questions are pissing her off. You've never seen her eyebrows melt into her hairline like this, and you've been at the receiving end of her indignation countless times. You're an expert, actually, on what she looks like when she's mad.

Mark is unwavering tough in his current state of anger. "You're entertaining other men in your pajamas when I'm not here, Dana, and it's supposed to leave me cold? Really?"

Your breath is halted. Of course, he doesn't know that Scully in a robe was so common to you even before you became romantically involved that it really is no big deal. Actually, you haven't really noticed she was in her pajamas when you got here until she said she would go change quickly and you told her not to be silly. You saw each other in hospital gowns, nightwear, undergarments, naked more than any other working duo on the planet, so seeing your former spouse in a pair of flannel PJs underneath a thick white terry cloth robe isn't inappropriate one bit. For you, that is. His attitude varies slightly from yours.

"What are you implying here, Mark?" Scully asks tight-lipped, although it's pretty obvious. Regardless that he is miles off target with his suspicions, you feel a pleasant twitch in your groin. An unexpected, yet very pleasant one.

"He's more to you than just a _friend_ , right?"

There, he speaks it out. His voice is weirdly distorted when he draws imaginable quotation marks into the air pronouncing the word 'friend'.

* * *

 **CLOSURE B - Shippers: Everything's Yar**

The innuendo is hovering above you like a heavy rain cloud imminent to empty itself upon you. Scully feels it too, and she decides to let the drops fall and soak you.

"You're right, Mark, Mulder is more to me than a friend."

"I knew it," he hisses through clenched teeth.

"It's not what you think, though."

"Ugh, come on, Dana, don't give me this shit. You simply never stopped loving him, that's it, and I was a welcome stopgap to help you cope with your separation, some stupid jerk who boosted your self-esteem adoring you and putting himself at your feet. What an idiot I've been."

"Wow," she mutters, "this is how you think of me? That I would use you like this? I thought you knew me better."

"Well, do we ever really know a person? Know all their motivations and thoughts, every hidden corner of their soul?"

You'd like to tell him that you do. You know Scully's soul better than your own. You can draw a map of every wound that soul has suffered from. You can tell exactly how high the wall is she's built around herself at any given moment and why it's there in the first place. You're able to follow her lines of thought without her having to utter a single word. If he knew how he's wronging her just now, he would keep his fucking mouth shut.

You can't help but back her up. "Would you take it down a notch, Mark? Why don't you just listen to what she's saying?"

"Don't you tell me what to do!" he bellows at you, angry beads of spit splashing out of his contorted mouth. You can't blame him. You remember how you reacted to the Ed Jerse incident all those years ago, and you hadn't even been a couple back then. Jealousy can do peculiar things to a once self-assured man.

"Mark, please sit down and listen to me," Scully says, "I never used you, neither did I ever lie to you. There are certain things I haven't told you, that's true, things about Mulder and myself, but not to betray you but because they are-"

Mark's hands shoot up to silence her. "Wait, let me say it, Dana," he demands, his voice sharp as a knife, "because they are _cla-ssi-fied_. What a perfect excuse for everything!"

"Well, they are, I can't help it," she replies steadfastly, "I'm not keeping them from you to hide any secrets you obviously think I have but to spare you the ugliness of what I've seen. Believe me, you don't want to know what Mulder and I dealt with. I understand that it's not easy for you and that I'm demanding a lot, but this is the only way it's going to work between us. If you cannot trust me on this, if you can't give me credit here, I don't see how we are going to continue our relationship."

"That's rich, Dana, really! Now I have to be thankful that you're protecting me from the world's villainy? Great! Like a boy who doesn't get told that his hamster died while he was in school."

She stares at him, bewilderment and disbelief written all over her face. "I can't believe we're having this conversation, Mark. I thought we had an understanding that my work with the FBI was part of my past I wanted to leave behind me."

"Can you at least tell me what you meant when you said he's more to you than a friend? I'm sorry that I'm so pathetically territorial here but I need to know there's nothing going on between you, otherwise I'm going to get crazy."

He seems to have forgotten that you're still here, or he doesn't care. You wished she had let you go a few minutes ago. You feel out of place and not entitled to listen to this conversation but you also know that your being here gives her strength. The two of you have got nothing indecent to hide from him, as much as you'd like there was.

"Please, baby, tell me what's so special about him that you can't let go of him," Mark implores, sounding so pleading and vulnerable all of a sudden, you can't but sincerely pity him.

Scully looks at her boyfriend. You notice compassion for him in her eyes, how seeing him falling apart in front of her touches her deeply. She will tell him, you realize, and your stomach feels as if you've just swallowed a pile of glass shards. You try to shield yourself from what you're going to hear because it will be as painful for you as it will be for her.

After another moment of silence she needs to muster up the strength to articulate the words, you hear her say, "he's the father to my son. Mulder and I have a child together."

Boom! The bomb has exploded.

You feel dizzy as the aftershocks ripple in waves through your body. Mark has turned into a pillar of salt. You're actually not sure he's still breathing. He stares at Scully with eyes wide and his mouth gaping. "I'm sorry, what?" he finally manages to utter.

"His name is William. He's thirteen."

"You have a son?"

"Yes."

After a moment he needs to process the information, Mark jumps up from his chair. The loud bang of the backrest making contact with the floor tears the silence apart that has been thickening the atmosphere in the room up to a point you feel you're suffocating.

"I can't believe this! For the six months we've been together you didn't deem me worthy to let me know this of you? That you are a mother?"

"I'm not a mother. Not anymore."

You feel like throwing up. You inhale deeply to fight the nausea. What you want to prevent from happening under all circumstances is that they turn their attention to you because you're emptying the contents of your stomach into the kitchen sink. This is not about you, although you play an important role in this. This is about Scully and Mark.

"What do you mean _not anymore_? Is he dead?"

Scully gasps. Tears flood her eyes and you see how hard she struggles not to lose her composure and break out in crying. You have to help her out.

"We don't know for sure, but we can assume that he is alive," you tell him, and to her you say, "we have every reason to believe he's safe and happy, Scully."

That's all you're going to say. What's more to explain needs to come from her. Mark won't understand anything with the cryptic way the two of you have been beating around the bush so far. How can he?

As if on cue he croaks, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"I gave him up for adoption a few weeks before he turned one. I insisted on a closed adoption, so we have no information whatsoever about him." Her voice is calm and firm. She has once again managed to detach herself from the painful emotions, talking as if she was giving facts on a case.

" _You_ gave your child up for adoption? I can't quite believe this, Dana. It doesn't sound the least like you. You're far too caring and giving for me to be able to picture this. You love kids. You work up to exhaustion to cure the children in your hospital, and I've seen you together with your nephews and niece and together with my kids. I can't imagine a reason why you should be giving away your own son."

You hate to admit it, but he impresses you. He's not judgemental or self-righteous, he's not blaming or condemning her like so many other people who have learned this about her, including her own brother. He is quite the contrary. "What happened, sweetheart?" he asks in a gentle voice full of empathy and reaches out to her but she pulls her hands away. 'Come on, Scully,' you want to call out to her, 'let your guard down. Open up to him.' But her eyes are glued to her entwined fingers, the knuckles white from kneading them fiercely. She bites her lower lip so hard you're afraid she'll draw blood. The tension wafting off of her is palpable, the inner turmoil readable.

She looks at you, questioning you what to do in the wordless communication you have perfected between you over the years. You give a nod that has to be almost invisible to Mark but is to Scully as if you were gesticulating wildly with both arms. She gets it. She clears her throat, wiping her palms on her thighs in what is an irrational replacement activity. You know that her hands get cold when she's tensed-up, not sweaty. You want to take them in yours, warm them up with your body heat because you actually are on fire, but you're aware that this is her battle to fight. You've talked to your therapist more than once about William, you're not sure she's ever talked to anyone about him, really talked about him. So you catch your breath with relief when she starts to speak.

"I longed for this child. I wanted to be a mother so badly, I had even tried IVF at a time I was single."

"IVF? With a sperm donation?" Mark asks.

"Uhm, yes," she answers shyly. You can see how hard she tries not to look at you. She most certainly doesn't want to give him a clue about the donor's identity.

"But it didn't take it," he concludes correctly.

"No. No, it didn't. I was told I couldn't conceive naturally, so this had been my only chance. A very slim chance, but I was so hopeful and therefore devastated when it failed and I had to accept that I was never going to have a child. About two years later, something that can only be called a miracle happened and I became pregnant the...uhm...the old-fashioned way."

Now she does look at you and Mark takes his eyes off of her to look at you too. He arches an eyebrow, you literally see the movie running in front of his mind's eye and you do everything you can to keep the sweet smile off your face that is tugging at the corners of your mouth. What a magical night that was!

Mark refocuses on Scully. "You call it a miracle, so I take it you were happy when you found out you were pregnant."

"Indescribably. The pregnancy and childbirth weren't without complications, though."

You almost laugh at the ridiculous understatement. A presumably dead father, the everpresent fear that her pregnancy was engineered, that her baby wasn't normal, plus a childbirth witnessed by supersoldiers were actually poisonous to the experience, not *complicating* it. She was finally in a state she had yearned for so long and then she wasn't allowed to enjoy it like any expectant mother should. The injustice of it all still makes you curse everything and everyone: fate, God...the Cigarette Smoking Man and his cronies.

"But when William was finally born and I was holding my healthy baby in my arms, I was so happy. I thought that a wonderful life was waiting for me together with my beautiful son and his father."

So did you. The kiss you shared with her in her apartment was so promising. You finally had the feeling you had found your home, somewhere you could settle down and someone you belonged to. Your bliss lasted exactly for 48 hours - the most wonderful 48 hours of your entire life - before you had to leave the woman you had eventually allowed yourself to love and the baby boy who had taken possession of your heart the moment you first held him in your arms.

"How naïve I was. How stupid," Scully whispers more to herself than Mark, completely sunken in her painful memories.

"Where the hell were you, Mulder?" Mark obviously has problems making sense of what he's been hearing so far.

"I, uh-" you start without even knowing what to say when Scully leapfrogs you. "Mulder's life was at stake. He had to go into hiding."

"I see. He saved his sorry ass and left you and the baby alone."

"I told him to get himself out of harm's way."

"Of course you're defending him but seriously, what kind of man leaves a woman who's just given birth all to herself with a newborn?"

You can't but agree. What kind of man did that to her?

"Our lives would've also been threatened if he had stayed."

"Sure, he did you a favor heaving all the responsibility onto you." Sarcasm is dripping off of every word.

"You weren't there, Mark. Don't judge Mulder for what he did if you don't have any idea what it was like back then."

You can't stand her speaking on behalf of you. You don't deserve it. "He's right, Scully. I shouldn't have left. My place was at your side. Yours and William's."

"Don't be ridiculous, Mulder! You know that had you stayed, they would've gotten you. What would've been the purpose of you staying?"

"The purpose, Scully? The _purpose_ would've been not to walk away from the only two people in the world that were important to me."

You gaze at each other, both briefly oblivious of the third person in the room until said person coughs uncomfortably and brings you back into the here and now. You both turn your heads and look away from each other, startled by the unexpected intensity of the moment.

Scully clears her throat. "Well, Mulder, dead you wouldn't have been of any help either."

No, of course not, but you would've had more than just two days with your family. You would've gotten to know your son better than what was possible in only 48 hours. How many more time would you have had before they shot a bullet through your head? A week? A month? A year? You might have been able to see William sit upright, eat his first solid food, crawl or babble his first words. Mommy, most probably, and maybe even daddy. You could've watched Scully as a mother. You were struck by the radiance of her smile when she was nursing him, you would've loved to see more of her parental bliss. Every single day more with your son and his mother would've been worth your inevitable violent decease.

But you chose to listen to Scully and Skinner in their efforts to convince you to go underground, They told you it would be better for the three of you. When you were lying all alone in a bed in some shaggy motel room in the middle of nowhere, thinking of Scully and William until your heart bled, you weren't so sure anymore that it had been the right decision. When you finally reunited with her in a dark, cold prison cell months later, a broken woman was kneeling in front of you, begging you for forgiveness although you had no right to blame her for anything.

"Honestly, Dana," Mark and his full voice pull you out of your painful reminiscences, "I can imagine that as FBI agents you had to deal with the scum of society and that you put your life on the line every once in a while, but that agents have to go underground to protect themselves and their families from getting killed is new to me. Is that a regular professional hazard you accept when you sign your contract?"

"We were Special Agents. We worked for a unit called the X-Files. Our cases were very much out of the ordinary," she explains without really revealing what kind of individuals you were dealing with. Some hadn't even been human.

"And because of an extraordinary case, Mulder had to hide?" Mark tries to understand.

"We had messed up with some very powerful forces during the course of our work. Almighty forces. Forces that moved people around like pawns on a chess board."

"Such as?"

Scully avoids Mark's eyes. Failing an answer, she hangs her head, presses her lips together and simply shrugs. He knows what to make of her reaction. "Classified," he notes dryly and gets an affirmative nod. "Okay, so you sent Mulder away two days after your son was born. He wasn't there to help you with the baby. I got this. But that can't possibly the reason why you gave...uh, what was his name again?"

"William," the two of you croak in unison and Scully heaves a sad sigh.

"Look, Mark," you rise to speak, "this is all quite painful for Scully. For the both of us. Allow me to cut this a little short. Not only Scully and I were pawns, but so was William. Due to the nature of our work the circumstances are-"

Mark raises a hand to stop you. "Ah, Mulder, let me say it once again: classified." He lets the word roll off of his tongue with relish, as if it were a sip of well-aged single malt, only that he isn't enjoying the taste.

"Right, but let me tell you this much: Scully acted out of pure love for her son. With giving him up, she took him out of the game. You have to understand, on their chess board he wasn't a simple pawn like us, he was the king, the most valuable token they had. Only far away from us in an adoptive family was he able to lead a normal life, a life out of reach of the forces that meant us harm. Scully made the biggest of sacrifices for a mother to make."

"It was our sacrifice as parents. I'm so sorry that I couldn't protect him, Mulder," you hear her whisper. While your look rests on Scully's slouched figure, out of the corner of your eye you notice how her boyfriend picks up the chair he's knocked over earlier and slumps down on it.

Her guilt pangs make you feel awful. All these years, you haven't managed to dissipate her worries that you held her accountable for the loss of William. "Don't you dare apologize to me, Scully. None of this is your fault. All this shit you've been through centers around me, I'm the one to blame here."

"Mulder, you know I chose this life at your side many years ago and never regretted it."

"That doesn't keep me from believing that you would've been better off without me. You deserved far more than what you've got."

"Nonsense. How often do I have to tell you that I would do it all over again?"

You have nothing to say to this. She's told you this many times, that she never regretted having chosen this life although it cost her so much, and as much as you wished for her to have this other, carefree life full of joy and light, you thank the gods above that against all odds she'd chosen to be with you, you selfish sonofabitch.

"Wow."

The man who's set this conversation in motion earlier in a pang of jealousy brings himself back into focus. You have almost forgotten he's still there, listening to what Scully and you had to say to each other. Poor guy, this can't be something you want your girlfriend and her ex to be talking about while you're in the room. Actually, this can't be something you want your girlfriend and her ex to be talking about at all.

"Your relationship really is one of a kind." Mark is shaken by a bitter chuckle. "Listen to you! You're so fucking tender with each other it makes me question my position in this threesome."

You can't believe the word he's chosen. "Threesome?" you make sure you heard him right.

"Yes, threesome." He pauses for a moment until he stares hostilely right at you. "Let me ask you this, Mulder...has it bothered you even for a second that there was someone else when you decided to sneak back into her life? Huh? I mean, honestly, haven't you heard that trying to steal a guy's girlfriend behind his back is no way to behave among men?"

"Mark, please! Would you stop being so possessive!" Scully implores. "I don't like it. Plus, there's no need for you to make such a scene."

"You keep saying that, Dana. You allayed my suspicions more than once, assuring me of your affection for me and that he and you are just friends," he snarls.

"We _are_ just friends," she shouts back at him.

He chuckles again. It's a mocking, sore chuckle. "You really believe what you're saying? What I've just seen here weren't two _friends_ but two people showing me so much syrupy devotion to one another, it makes me gag."

His harsh words bring tears to her eyes, and you hate him for it. He doesn't understand anything, or maybe, actually, he understands it all.

"It's so damn obvious that I'm the fifth wheel here, I think I better go."

He jumps off the chair which threatens to tip over once again. He grabs his jacket and strides toward the door, but Scully blocks his way. "No, please, don't go!"

"Why? Why do you want me to stay?"

"Because...because I really enjoy being with you."

"You know what, Dana? This I actually do believe. You enjoy being with me. You like me. Maybe even a lot. But not even once did I hear from you that you loved me. I don't blame you, don't get me wrong. I know that in a relationship, there's always one party more deeply in love than the other and I guess in our relationship that party is supposed to be me. It's not a very pleasant position to be in, I have to tell you. I've been there already with my marriage to Jessica, and I'm not going there again. I'm sorry. I'm really madly in love with you, Dana, but if you can't love me back the way I love you, and I've just been shown that you can't, I have to get the hell out of here to save my neck."

"What is it you're saying, Mark?" she whispers in a trembling voice although she knows. You do too.

Mark cups Scully's face, tilting it up to make her look at him. His voice is gentle now, his features calm and peaceful. "I'm saying..." He sighs, clenches his jaw so hard you see his muscles throb, inhales deeply through his nose, then continues in an even softer voice, "I'm saying that you are a stunning woman. You're breathtakingly beautiful, you're sensitive, warm, giving. You were a wonderful mother, of that I'm sure. I fell for you the moment you stepped into my office. The man who gets to be loved by you is one lucky guy. Unfortunately, I'm not that man. I wished I was, but I'm not and never will be. Someone else in this room is. I've been enjoying my time with you, Dana, a lot, but I have to protect my heart from being broken, and it will be broken if I stay."

"Mark," Scully starts feebly but is silenced by his lips on hers. It's a chaste kiss, their mouths lingering on each other in a tender touch.

"Take care, sweet Dana," he says while swiping the remains of the kiss off her lips with his thumb. "And you, asshole," he starts talking to you without taking his eyes off of her, "you better get your shit together and make her happy."

He moves toward the door. His hand is already reaching for the knob when he turns around to look at you both. "Go find this son of yours. Build the family you both so achingly long for. You were both FBI agents, for Christ's sake, you know how to get information about someone, don't you? Classified or not."

He opens the door and walks through it but stops in the hallway once again. Without looking back he says one more thing. "Send me a Christmas card of the three of you." Then he's gone.

Scully is rooted to the ground. She stares after him, frozen, not even blinking an eye. You close the door softly and lean your back against it. You're downright flabbergasted by the ultimate course of events. You really have to give him credit. You'd bow to him if he was still here. That was some kind of a dignified exit off the stage. You're beginning to understand why she'd gotten involved with him. The man has class.

"I'm sorry, Scully," you mumble, "that's not what I came here for, today."

"I don't know what to say," she whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm an awful person."

"No, you're not."

"I treated him badly, took advantage of him."

"Did you listen at all? He said you were stunning and that he treasures the time with you. No man praises a woman like that if he feels taken advantage of."

"I should've never gotten involved with him. It was not fair to let him believe that I could ever...after what we had...I mean...argh."

She pushes you aside and takes angry strides back into the living-room. Your heart breaks seeing her in so much despair. All you wanted when you came here was to share her company for a while. You didn't mean to chase her boyfriend away, although, if you're being honest, for your own selfish reasons, you're glad he's gone.

Some of what he'd said to her is still ringing in your ear.

"Is he right, Scully?"

"Right with what?"

"That I...uhm, that the other man in this room was in the lucky position to be loved by you?"

Mark Finlay isn't the first man to make such a remark. Many years ago, Philipp Padgett, the writer who lived next door to you, told you that Scully couldn't fall in love like he'd written in one of his stories because she already was in love. He meant in love with you but you were too slow-witted to be able to put two and two together at the time.

"Mulder, you know that the reason for me to leave you was not that I had fallen out of love with you."

She can't hide that she doesn't really want to talk about it right now, but you have to know so you insist. "That's not what he was trying to say, I guess."

"No, maybe not."

"And?"

She looks at you with her beautiful blue eyes that are now red and puffy from crying. "Mulder, let me process the relationship that has just ended before contemplating another one, okay?"

"Sure."

You clear your throat. You're a bit embarrassed. What did you expect? That she would fall into your arms right away and kiss you as if she only waited for Mark to disappear? She had been serious about this man, she had really wanted to give this relationship a try. You just realize how close you'd been to losing her. If it wasn't for the bond you share through William, the time you'd become estranged from one another during the height of your depression could have been fatal to your relationship. The son who left your life as an infant keeps holding the two of you together, how ironic is that?

Scully is standing at the window with her back turned to you, her body posture rigid. She's folded her arms around herself and you see her shoulders rise and fall with every breath she takes. She's upset and confused. You'd like to envelop her in a comforting embrace, stroke her back while she buries her face in your chest and place a kiss into her hair - strictly platonic, without any ulterior motives - but you're not sure it'd be much appreciated. Scully hates to be vulnerable. You can count on the fingers of one hand how often she allowed you to see her in a moment of weakness, the moment she told you that she'd given up William being one of them.

"Scully?" you break the deafening silence.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think he's right about...this, uh, other thing?"

You hold your breath.

"What other thing?"

Her eyes are still locked on something outside.

"William. That we should track him down."

You think you're able to see how the last bit of strength leaves her body. For a moment, you fear she's going to collapse like a marionette whose strings have been cut off, but then she recomposes herself. She straightens her shoulders and her voice is quiet but firm when she starts to speak.

"I sometimes imagine what he looks like. I picture him tall and lanky as you, with brown, thick hair. He hadn't grown enough of it when I handed him over to the social worker to be able to tell what color it would eventually be. His eyes had my color, but most babies are born with blue eyes, especially fair-skinned ones like him. They have very little melanin in their eyes, the pigment that gives color to the eyes, skin, and hair. The eyes sometimes don't produce much melanin, if any, while the baby is in the womb. After birth, light stimulates the production of it, which is why the eye color may darken or change over time. His eyes were still blue when I last looked into them, so maybe they still are."

You haven't seen Science Scully for a while, but there she is, rational and detached as ever, letting facts capture the space where emotions are too painful.

"I wonder what he's like as a schoolboy. Does he like science like I do or is he more gifted in the fine arts and attends a theater or writing class? If he has inherited your height, which I hope he has, he plays basketball probably or he is a good swimmer, maybe, like you. I bet he loves pizza like all teenagers his age, and computer games. Maybe he has a dog. It's nice for kids to grow up with a dog. I've always been a dog person. If he was living with us, we would have a dog, for sure. An Irish Terrier maybe, or a Jack Russell. Those are funny."

She's in another world, a dream world, where she keeps William around. You ask yourself whether this really is a healthy way to cope with the loss. You're not sure and you make a mental note to ask your therapist. You see the same broken woman you saw all those years ago in your prison cell, bereft of everything good in her life, and you realize you're the only person who's able to keep the fragments of her together, which is why Mark never stood a real chance against you. Only you have the ability to glue the pieces of her shattered existence together and make her a whole person. It's your advantage over all men that think they could hit on her, but it's also an obligation. You've seen what happens to her when you're not fulfilling your duty. She gets lost and disoriented with all the choices she'd made being proven wrong after all. You are her lifeline, the x-axis to the y-axis in her coordinate system. It's your damn responsibility to be the man she needs you to be after all the sadness you've brought into her life.

You approach her cautiously, for she's so buried in her contemplations that you're afraid to startle her. 'Take her by the hand and guide her,' you hear your inner voice tell you, so that's what you do. Your fingertips graze the back of her hand which is now dangling lifelessly at the end of an equally lifeless arm, which belongs to a lifeless woman. She doesn't react, is not taking the hand you're offering her. Her walls are up, you realize. Two rows of solid bricks, erected to shut everyone out, to retreat and deal with the pain all by herself. But you won't let her. Not this time. The two of you made that mistake once, each dealing alone with the loss of William, you won't let it happen again. This time, you're going to hold on to her and you're going to help her heal.

"I'm here, Scully," you whisper into her ear.

* * *

 **EPILOGUE**

"Mr. Finlay, there's a private letter for you in the mail today. It's on your desk," the agency's intern who is responsible for distributing the incoming mail tells him.

"Thank you, Chad," Mark replies, but the boy is already gone.

He puts his briefcase on his desk and switches the desk lamp on. It's still dark in the morning at this time of year. He pushes the button on his phone to listen to the messages on his voicebox and takes a sip of the coffee he's brought along. He lets himself fall into his chair and sighs. Two more weeks until Christmas, then he will have two weeks off. He will spend Christmas Eve with his ex-wife and the kids this year. He's resolved all his issues with Jessica and they are able to converse on a friendly basis again, which is good for their two children, Benjamin, 12, and Louise, 15. He leans back in his chair and contemplates his agenda for the day when his eyes fall on the envelope on his desk with the note 'confidential'.

He reaches out and takes it in his hand. The paper is thick and there's a commemorative stamp with a Christmas ball on it. Season greetings, obviously. How many has he already received of these? All his clients, and he's got lots of them, send him season greetings, and the house owners, who want him to find tenants for their properties. This particular letter is also from a client, a very special one. He recognizes her handwriting instantly and has to smile.

He doesn't want to rip the envelope, so he opens the top drawer of his desk and takes a letter opener out. He positions the point at one corner and slides the sharp blade through the paper. He puts the opener back into the drawer and closes it slowly. He takes another sip of coffee before he pulls the card out.

The front only says Season Greetings, but when he unfolds it, he looks at some familiar faces. Two out of three are familiar at least, the third person is unknown to him but is so much a combination of the other two that he has to laugh. It's a teenage boy with the same thick dark hair as his father and the blue eyes of his mother.

He takes a closer look at the woman's face and is taken aback by the sheer elation etched on her face. Her eyes are sparkling and her toothy grin almost reaches her ears. He's never seen her that happy, which hurts him a little because he'd always thought that she had been happy with him also. Maybe she was, but not as happy as she could be, as happy as she is with this other man. Below the picture, he finds a personal note from her.

 _Mark, hope you are well. Thanks for everything. Dana._

His eyes fall on the man. With his long arms put around the other two, he looks like a proud family man determined to do everything in his power to care for and to protect his loved ones. "Well done, asshole," Mark mumbles, "looks like you've really gotten your shit together."

He takes his iPhone out, opens the messenger app and touches the profile picture of one of his favorite contacts. _Hey Jess_ , he types, _looking forward to spending Xmas with you and the kids this year. XOXO, Mark._ He hesitates for a moment, then presses send. He watches for the indication that the message is being delivered and smiles when the little blue check tells him that's it's been received. The green dot next to his ex-wife's name indicates that she's online right now. A few seconds later, her reply gets in.

 _Me too_ and a smiling emoji.

 **END**


End file.
